<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>One Hundred Ways to Say "I Love You" by toesalignedarch</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558370">One Hundred Ways to Say "I Love You"</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch'>toesalignedarch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>100 ways to say i love you, Baby Shower, Camping, Dinner Party, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Ethari has ADHD, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Independent Chapters, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, Runaan is a perfectionist, background Tiadrin/Lain, just some soft and tender moments because we all need some of that in our lives, will update tags as I go along</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:22:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,252</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24558370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>100 glimpses into Runaan and Ethari's relationship. </p><p>Based on <a href="https://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you">this prompt</a> by tumblr user @p0ck3tf0x.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Ruthari - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. pull over. let me drive for a while</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello! there's been a lot going on in the world, and it's starting to dawn on me that if I want to be in this fight for justice (among other things) for the long haul, I'm going to need to take better care of my mental health—and physical health! who knew not sleeping would be this bad for you?</p><p>I ran across <a href="https://p0ck3tf0x.tumblr.com/post/98502010026/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you">this prompt</a> by tumblr user @p0ck3tf0x and immediately thought of all the Ruthari moments I could capture, and that brought me great joy. So, here we are: 100 ways to say "I love you," elf style.</p><p>just some logistics: these chapters are going to be independent of each other, so you can read these in any order. feel free to jump around! I'll be updating the tags as I go along, and I don't really see a schedule for these—it'll all depend on how I'm feeling! I hope you enjoy :)</p><p>ps: no justice, no peace.</p><p>pps: come say hi on <a href="https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Trips to the market are usually fun. Well, “fun,” by Ethari’s definition of it. For Runaan, it’s usually a bit of a hassle. After all, while his husband gets to interact with other elves and Xadian beings, he’ll be spending his time fretting and wondering how assassin training is going without him. (Don’t be stupid, of course he left a lieutenant in charge with a training plan, but <em>what if </em>something goes wrong?)</p><p class="p1">This trip to the market is already more stressful than any of past trips combined. A mix of pre-journey excitement on Ethari’s part coupled with the smith’s tendency to leave things lying around only to forget where he placed it two seconds later yielded in a chaotic and frantic search for his money pouch exactly seventeen minutes before they were set out to leave. The search took them twenty minutes, though it seemed to last a lifetime.</p><p class="p1">Not to mention <em>someone—</em>Runaan’s hands tighten on the sides of his saddle—misplaced his moonstrider’s bridle, resulting in a ridiculous solution that leashed the moonstrider to the shadowpaw like some sort of perverse caravan. The moonstider, ever the independent and stubborn creature, was understandably upset at losing its freedom and Runaan, so like his mount, is too. With only the saddle to grip onto, it’s an uncomfortable ride. Never before has Runaan ever wished for a bridle so badly just to have something else to hold; his forearms are stiffening at an alarming rate.</p><p class="p1">Up ahead of him, Ethari rides silently atop his shadowpaw, who ambles along at an agonizing pace. Without the impatient moonstrider (and its rider) to urge them along, the leading duo are taking their sweet time. Runaan sighs deeply, glancing up at the sky—they’d be lucky to get to the market by nightfall at this rate. Despite Ethari’s insistence that they’d be fine—“I’m not tired at all, I’ll lead the way, don’t you worry yourself about it”—Runaan is still wary of traveling through the woods in the dark.</p><p class="p1">When the shadowpaw stops to sniff at some flowers along the path for the fifth time, Runaan can’t bite his tongue anymore. “Should we consider moving along a bit quicker?” he asks pointedly. The shadowpaw ignores his tone in favor of giving each petal of the flower a delicate, thorough investigation.</p><p class="p1">“I think we’re doing just fine,” Ethari says with an easy smile. He pats the neck of his mount affectionately. “Besides, when’s the last time we had the chance to enjoy our journey to the market?”</p><p class="p1">“Two years ago,” Runaan reminds him flatly, without any hesitation. “When you nearly got mugged by a rogue band of elves because you took too long and had to travel in the dark.”</p><p class="p1">The corners of Ethari’s lips droop downwards into a pensive frown. “Oh, right. Well.” He scratches bashfully at the back of his neck and clears his throat. “But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”</p><p class="p1">Runaan doesn’t answer, choosing to cross his arms and look away. He regrets the choice immediately—the moment he turns the shadowpaw decides it’s done with the flower and lurches forward, causing Runaan to nearly fall off his moonstrider. He can hear Ethari’s quiet laughter echoing into the air as his cheeks burn.</p><p class="p1">It’s hours of staring at the slow moving scenery later when Runaan first notices that something’s off. Their pace has digressed to that of an exhausted glow toad—Runaan swears that the shadows cast by the setting sun are moving faster than they are—and the shadowpaw is acting strange. Well, stranger than usual—the beast is easily distracted by aromatic objects and likes to wander around, but now it’s stopping to examine every little thing that they pass. Runaan narrows his eyes at Ethari’s back. His husband’s head is tilted forward, his shoulders slumped.</p><p class="p1">“Ethari?”</p><p class="p1">The elf jerks. “I’m awake!” he shouts, turning to look at Runaan with frantic eyes. “I’m awake!”</p><p class="p1">“I can see that,” Runaan replies slowly. “Though your insistence on it makes me wonder if you weren’t at some point.”</p><p class="p1">Ethari laughs, high-pitched and on the edge of hysterical. “I’m fine,” he says in the same high-pitched, nearly hysterical voice. “I’m not tired at all. I’m fine.”</p><p class="p1">“Again,” Runaan tells him, “your insistence on that makes me skeptical.”</p><p class="p1">A blush rises on Ethari’s cheeks. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much,” the smith says in his normal voice. “Now, shall we continue?”</p><p class="p1">It’s less than an hour later before Ethari’s posture begins to sag again. Runaan notices immediately this time, jumping elegantly from his moonstrider to walk beside the shadowpaw.</p><p class="p1">Ethari’s fast asleep, soft snores falling from his lips in gentle waves. Any irritation left in Runaan’s heart immediately melts as he stares into the peaceful face of his husband, his neck bent at what must surely be an uncomfortable angle. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t fallen off his beast. Runaan settles a hand gently on Ethari’s thigh and the elf doesn’t stir, not even when he squeezes.</p><p class="p1">“Ah, you fool,” Runaan murmurs under his breath. He reaches up and is half way through untangling the bridle from Ethari’s hands—a task made infinitely more difficult when the shadowpaw refuses to listen to his command to stop—when his husband stirs.</p><p class="p1">“Mm?”</p><p class="p1">“Ethari, tell your beast to stop moving.”</p><p class="p1">His husband blinks at him, uncomprehending.</p><p class="p1">Runaan sighs. “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine,” Ethari insists, stifling a yawn. “I can still lead—“</p><p class="p1">“No.” Runaan succeeds in tugging the reins from Ethari’s languid hands. “Not in this state you can’t. C’mon, tell it to stop.”</p><p class="p1">Ethari murmurs something into the shadowpaw’s ears and the lumbering beast comes to a halt. With quick, sharp movements, Runaan unbuckles the bridle and slides it over the top of the beast’s head. He’s back at his moonstrider’s side in a mere few steps, throwing the over-sized bridle over its slender neck with practiced ease. “I know, I know,” he tells his mount when it recoils at the unfamiliar gear. “It’s not the right size but it will have to do.” He tightens the buckles to their smallest size, and though the leather still slips and slides around the moonstrider’s neck, it’ll work for now.</p><p class="p1">“What’re you—“</p><p class="p1">“You stay here,” Runaan tells Ethari firmly. He’s now unknotting the leash that keeps his mount tied behind Ethari’s, and with a sharp whistle beckons the moonstrider to his side. It takes only a few moments before the shadowpaw is harnessed behind the moonstrider, an arrangement that seems to suit everyone.</p><p class="p1">Ethari watches him work with sleepy eyes. When Runaan’s finally done tying knots and locking down buckles, he takes one last look behind him. His husband is already slumped forward against the broad back and neck of his mount, fighting to keep his eyes open. When Ethari registers that Runaan is looking at him, he opens his mouth to say something—knowing him and that look, it’s probably an apology—but Runaan cuts him off.</p><p class="p1">“Rest, moonlight,” he says with a tender quirk of his lips, and even before he turns back around Ethari is sound asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please forgive my lack of knowledge re: briddles/saddles. I googled what they are and just kinda... went from there</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. it reminded me of you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Runaan and Ethari are young-adult elves in this chapter, who haven't (yet) declared their love for each other! :)</p><p>inspired by <a href="https://thedragonprince.com/runaan-birthday/">this post</a> from TDP about Runaan's birthday traditions but adapted it to fit my plot :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Lain's elbow jabs sharply into his side. Grimacing, Runaan doesn't even hesitate to stick out his foot, causing the elf beside him to flail and collapse onto the ground with a loud thud.</p><p class="p1">"Moon above, Runaan," comes the grumble by his feet. "I was trying to be subtle but <em>fine</em>, if you <em>want</em> to draw attention to yourself—"</p><p class="p1">Too late, Runaan realizes his mistake. Across the Silvergrove, a familiar figure is emerging through the magic veil, his silhouette morphing into dark skin and warm brown eyes—eyes that are fixed on him. Well, fixed on Lain's squirming body on the ground, but it isn't long before the gaze falls on him.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan!" Lain hisses, grabbing at Runaan's ankles. "Help me up!"</p><p class="p1">But Runaan is frozen like a deer caught in a glow toad's light. The figure across the clearing raises his hand in a small—if not confused—wave before heading towards the forge.</p><p class="p1">It takes another elbow to his calf before he reaches down to pull his companion to his feet. "You know," Lain says, wiping the dirt from his clothes. "I was trying to warn you that he was coming, but—"</p><p class="p1">"Enough." Runaan can feel the heat rising in his face, knows that the tips of his ears are redder than the ripest moonberries. It takes a lot of willpower—more than he'd ever admit—to not look back at where the other elf disappeared.</p><p class="p1">Lain sighs as they start walking towards the training pavilion. "You know," the elf says kindly, "I really think you should tell Ethari how you feel about him."</p><p class="p1">"<em>Lain!</em>" Runaan glances around quickly, relieved to see that no one else was in earshot. "Announce it to the entire village, why don't you?"</p><p class="p1">"If that's what you want," Lain replies. He cups his hands around his mouth. "Runaan likes—"</p><p class="p1">Aforementioned elf tackles him to the ground. "Shut it!"</p><p class="p1">"I'm just saying," comes Lain's muffled voice through a mouthful of dirt and grass. "What've you got to lose? All you do is stare at him from a distance anyway, so—whoa"—he blinks as Runaan wrenches him from the ground and pushes him to his feet in a violent yet charitable gesture—"ow, thank you. <em>Anyway</em>, like I said, what've you got to lose?"</p><p class="p1">"My dignity, for one," Runaan grumbles. "My pride, for two. My reputation, for three, and—"</p><p class="p1">Lain sighs dramatically, cutting him off. "Okay, okay, I get it. The high and mighty Runaan doesn't fall for mere peasants, and even if he were to <em>hypothetically</em> be <em>madly</em> in love with one he'd never do anything about it because he's a <em>coward</em>."</p><p class="p1">"You take that back." Runaan's voice is dangerously low.</p><p class="p1">"I'm just saying!" Lain raises both his hands in mock surrender and begins to slowly back away. "You really don't have much to lose, Runaan. I'm speaking not as your friend but as an unbiased outsider." He ignores Runaan's scoff and continues. "I think you might have a chance with that muscular hunk of an apprentice."</p><p class="p1">Rather than rise to his bait, Runaan merely huffs and crosses his arms.</p><p class="p1">It's a few hours later, when he's sitting by the reflecting pool and, well, reflecting, that Runaan hears footsteps approaching from behind him. Instantly he's on guard, listening carefully to the tread of the newcomer. He's only a little embarrassed when he identifies who it is almost immediately.</p><p class="p1">"Hello, Ethari," he says coolly just as the apprentice steps into the clearing.</p><p class="p1">"Wow. How do you <em>do </em>that? Every time!"</p><p class="p1">Runaan fights to keep the satisfied smirk from rising to his lips. "I'm a trained assassin," he says instead, choosing to keep his eyes closed. "It's my job."</p><p class="p1">"That is very impressive." Ethari settles on the ground beside him. Runaan can feel the elf's inquisitive gaze inspecting him. The feeling burns through him like wildfire. "Um, are you busy at the moment? I could come back another time?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan cracks open one eye. "What can I help you with?"</p><p class="p1">"Ha," Ethari chuckles breathlessly—almost nervously. "There's nothing you can help me with—I mean, you're very helpful in what you do, but I don't need any assistance right now, I just, well, I have—sorry, I'm rambling aren't I?"</p><p class="p1">It's endearing, Runaan wants to tell him, but he gives him a quirk of his lips just to show he's not mad or upset. The small gesture seems to calm Ethari down, and the apprentice digs through his pockets before producing a metal object.</p><p class="p1">"Here," he says, depositing it into Runaan's lap.</p><p class="p1">Both eyes now open, Runaan picks up the piece with a delicate touch. Turning it over in his palms, he recognizes the silhouette. "A mouse?"</p><p class="p1">"A mouse," the smith confirms with a bashful yet pleased smile. "We were working on jewel-setting the other day in the smithy, and we were asked to make something intimate—I mean, uh, intricate. And I ended up making this jeweled mouse, and after I was done I figured, you know, I already have so many trinkets in my possession that I don't really need another one..." Ethari fumbles with the hem of his tunic. "So, I'm giving it to you. As a present. Because, well, it reminded me of you."</p><p class="p1">Runaan pauses in his admiration of the details and looks up. "Me?"</p><p class="p1">"Cause you're always too quiet." Ethari grins at him cheekily. "Like a mouse."</p><p class="p1">"Oh." His throat is suddenly parched; his chest constricts and his heart pounds, but Runaan is suddenly filled with warmth that spreads through his veins and leaves his skin tingling like he's just been blessed by the light of a full moon. He looks up at Ethari, stares into those amber eyes, and doesn't know what to say.</p><p class="p1">After a pause, Ethari gives him a tender smile and bids him goodbye. Speechless, Runaan can only watch him disappear into the woods that surround the reflecting pool, with Lain's words ricocheting in his mind.</p><p class="p1"><em>I think you might have a chance</em>.</p><p class="p1">Maybe more than just a chance.</p><p class="p1">Scrambling to his feet, Runaan chases after the elf, three simple words on the tip of his tongue.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ps: come say hi on <a href="https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. come here. let me fix it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>back to married ruthari! featuring Ethari being a sneaky lil shit and Runaan reluctantly (read: happily) putting up with it :)</p><p>when I first saw the prompt I thought it would be too obvious to make this from Ethari's POV, so I challenged myself to write a scenario where Runaan would say something like this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">When Runaan walks through his front door, he finds his husband sitting at the table with a bottle of moonberry moscato they had been saving for a special occasion. Or, rather, what <em>used</em> to be a bottle of moonberry moscato, seeing as the bottle was now empty and Ethari quite red in the face, a rather self-satisfied smile plastered on his face.</p><p class="p1">"Well, well, well," he says when he catches sight of Runaan. "Look who's finally come home."</p><p class="p1">"Sorry, moonlight. Had some last minute tasks I needed to finish." Runaan shucks his boots and leaves them in a haphazard pile by the door. Turning to face Ethari, he notices belatedly that there are two wine glasses on the table. "Did you already eat dinner?"</p><p class="p1">"Yes, yes, I know." Ethari waves vaguely at a covered bowl on the kitchen counter. "Tiadrin stopped by to let me know you were too stubborn to let anyone else handle the emergency. She brought me some pity food and stayed awhile so I wouldn't have to eat alone." His voice is nearly a whisper when he adds, "again."</p><p class="p1">A stabbing pain erupts in Runaan's stomach for just a moment. Dropping his cloak and bowblade at his feet, he cradles Ethari's face in his hands and stares into his husband's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Ethari," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to—"</p><p class="p1">"S'okay." Ethari gives him a brave smile. "I'm used to it."</p><p class="p1">Another stabbing pain. "No, it's not okay. You shouldn't have to get used to eating alone every night."</p><p class="p1">A hand comes up to Runaan's face, a gentle thumb smoothing at the agitated wrinkles on his forehead. Ethari leans forward and presses their lips together. His husband tastes of moonberry moscato, something Runaan associates with their wedding and birthday celebrations. He tries to deepen the kiss, but Ethari pulls away. "You're a busy elf, moonlight," he whispers against Runaan's skin. "I knew this when I married you."</p><p class="p1">"I'll be better," Runaan says fervently.</p><p class="p1">"Promise?"</p><p class="p1">"Promise."</p><p class="p1">"Swear on your life?"</p><p class="p1">"Of course, I—"</p><p class="p1">The rest of his sentence is lost in the ether, because there's a sword at the tip of his nose.</p><p class="p1">There's a <em>sword</em> at the tip of his nose.</p><p class="p1">It's <em>his </em>sword at the tip of <em>his</em> nose.</p><p class="p1">Runaan stares, flabbergasted at Ethari's shit-eating grin. "Gotcha," the smith says giddily. "I'm getting pretty good at distracting you, huh?"</p><p class="p1">"What—?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari rises to his feet, flushed cheeks aglow. Despite his wobbly legs, the point of the sword remains steadily aimed at Runaan. "If I steal your bowblade, then you can't work late anymore."</p><p class="p1">Understanding floods through Runaan, and he can only chuckle. "That's not how it works," he says, easily batting the blade aside. "I can still run missions without my bowblade."</p><p class="p1">"You wouldn't dare," Ethari counters with a dramatic gasp. "When I gave this to you, you promised you would take this on every mission!" With a whirl of his wrists, Ethari holds up both swords at Runaan. "You lied to me!" he cries with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.</p><p class="p1">"Yes, you caught me," Runaan deadpans. "Our courtship, our marriage, all of this—a ruse just to get the bowblade." Quicker than lightning, he deflects the blades and has both of Ethari's wrists in one hand. "Drop the weapon before you hurt yourself."</p><p class="p1">To his surprise—and secret delight—the glint in Ethari's eyes only grows bolder. "Never," Ethari shouts pompously, breaking from the hold and darting behind a chair. The two swords in his hand knock perilously against the table, carving slight notches into the legs of a nearby chair. "You'll have to take them from me!"</p><p class="p1">In retrospect, it was an unfair match. After all, Ethari can only <em>barely</em> hold his own against Runaan in a sparring match when he's sober; a tipsy Ethari still has the strength of a banther but possesses the finesse of a glow toad. Before long, Runaan has Ethari backed up against a wall, both elves breathing heavily and grinning widely.</p><p class="p1">"Do you surrender?" Runaan asks, hyperaware of Ethari's warm body pressed against his.</p><p class="p1">Ethari hums. As the tension in his arms melt away, Runaan gently lowers Ethari's wrists so that the dual swords dangle harmlessly by his side. "Fine," Ethari resigns. "Get off me, you oaf. You're sweaty."</p><p class="p1">"Mm." Runaan drops a kiss on Ethari's forehead before peeling himself away.</p><p class="p1">Now exhausted <em>and </em>famished, Runaan strolls over to the leftovers, wondering what Tiadrin could've made that was actually edible—he has a sneaking suspicion that Lain made the food anyway; or at least he hopes that's the case. Behind him, he hears Ethari settle back into his seat at the table, followed by the gentle scraping sounds of the bowblade being put back together.</p><p class="p1">Or, at least, the sounds of an attempt to put the bowblade back together. After a particularly painful shriek of complaint from the weapon, Ethari throws his head back in frustration. "I designed this," he whines at the ceiling. "Why can't I turn it back into a bow?"</p><p class="p1">"Perhaps it's because you're not quite sober, moonlight?"</p><p class="p1">The glare Ethari throws at him could've shattered even the strongest of shields. "Don't patronize me," he grumbles, trying and failing to reattach the handles of the swords. Ethari glares at his hands as if they've betrayed him. "I literally made this myself."</p><p class="p1">When a rather vigorous attempt to connect the two halves causes one of the curved blades to nearly cut off the tip of Ethari's horn, Runaan decides to step in. With an outstretched hand, he approaches his flustered husband. "Come here," he says gently, motioning for Ethari to deposit the weapon into his upturned palm. "Let me fix it." </p><p class="p1">"But I can do it," Ethari pouts.</p><p class="p1">"I know you can. But perhaps it would be best if you set down the very sharp swords and go to bed."</p><p class="p1">Ethari deliberates for a moment. "Fine," he concedes. Dropping the curved swords unceremoniously into Runaan's waiting arms, Ethari watches as Runaan clicks the handles together with practiced ease. Immediately, the dual swords transform into a majestic bow, its string glinting in the moonlight and humming with magic.</p><p class="p1">"That's better." Setting the weapon down on the table, Runaan eyes his husband. "And now, what to do with you, hm? Bed?" he asks, extending his arm in an invitation.</p><p class="p1">"Bed," Ethari agrees, and gives Runaan his hand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hello, thanks for reading this far! here are some petitions you can sign and emails you can send to demand justice and change:</p><p>
  <a href="https://signatures.carrd.co/">signatures.carrd.co</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://emailforblm.com/">emailforblm.com</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. no, no. it's my treat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>la la la another married Ruthari chapter, this time from Ethari's point of view! a little dash of ADHD!Ethari and perfectionist!Runaan because why not?</p><p>love to explore emotions, love to be grumpy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">He'll never admit it, but Grumpy Runaan is one of Ethari's favorite Runaans, right after Happy Runaan, Cuddly Runaan, and...well, he doesn't need to list all of them, does he?</p><p class="p1">There's just something about his pout and the way he seems to simultaneously curl in on himself yet stand up taller—because Runaan is too well trained to slouch—that never fails to keep a smile on his face. Of course, he's not going to <em>purposefully</em> irritate his husband into being grumpy, but the occasional grump-fest was a nice reminder that his otherwise perfect (or at least perfectionistic) husband was still just a mere elf.</p><p class="p1">Today, it seems that what's gotten Runaan into his funk started as a simple matter of finding a clod of dirt on his bowblade, which he had left inside the training pavilion while he discussed some secret plans with a few assassins outside. But a trivial clod of dirt turned into meticulous, borderline obsessive cleaning, which led to him returning home later than planned, which then led to them leaving later than planned, and if there's one thing that Runaan despises it's tardiness.</p><p class="p1">"Look, moonshine," Ethari is saying, glancing sympathetically at his husband who's riding his moonstrider so stiffly that Ethari fears the next bump in the road will shatter his spine. "We'll still get there with plenty of time left to spare. Really, it's fine."</p><p class="p1">"It's not <em>fine</em>," his husband grits out. Ethari has a premonition of Runaan's teeth cracking into splinters. "It's <em>your</em> conference where <em>you'll</em> be showcasing work that <em>you've</em> labored over, and <em>I'm</em> the one who's delaying everything."</p><p class="p1">"I told you"—Ethari ducks as his shadowpaw ambles right underneath a low hanging branch, nearly poking out his eyes—"it's really not that big of a deal. There are others from the Silvergrove who will be attending, and they're showcasing work as well. Actually, the party carrying all the displays left yesterday, so everything's already there. I only really need to be there so the other elves can put a face to my name."</p><p class="p1">"But your reputation," Runaan says, concerns crowding his features. "If they see your name and notice you're not there, they'll think you're..."</p><p class="p1">"What," Ethari interjects into the silence as Runaan trails off. "They'll think I'm forgetful and, perhaps, tend to place things down and immediately forget where I put it? Or they'll think I'm scatterbrained and disorganized to a fault?"</p><p class="p1">His description of himself brings a smile to Runaan's lips for the briefest moment before the corners turn back down. "I'm serious, Ethari."</p><p class="p1">"As am I," Ethari counters. "You assassins might think reputation is everything, but at an exposition like this all the other elves care about is the quality of the craft. Really"—he ducks as his shadowpaw (deliberately?) walks beneath another low hanging branch—"it really doesn't matter that much. The other smiths told me I didn't even have to go."</p><p class="p1">"But you should. It's your work. You should be able to show it off."</p><p class="p1">"I mean, yeah. But it's not <em>that</em> important to me." Ethari glances sideways at Runaan, whose posture seems to have melted more into a slouch. <em>Ah</em>, he thinks sadly. <em>We've reached Slouchy Runaan</em>.</p><p class="p1">Slouchy Runaan—in other words, Unnecessarily-Blaming-Himself-For-Everything Runaan—is one of Ethari's least favorite Runaans. Not because he finds it annoying or anything, but because it pains him to see his husband take on such a burden. Too many times has Runaan come home as Slouchy Runaan from a less-than-successful mission, claiming that every wrong was his fault.</p><p class="p1">"Hey." Ethari reaches across the gap between their two mounts and lays his hand on Runaan's shoulder. "Forget this. I have a better idea."</p><p class="p1">"You—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari pats his shadowpaw on the neck and urges it forward. "Come on," he calls behind him as his mount's paws begin to pound on the dirt path. "Keep up, slow toad!"</p><p class="p1">For the record, moonstriders are known to be more agile than shadowpaws. That's the only reason Runaan caught up so quickly.</p><p class="p1">"Where are we going?" Runaan shouts over the whistling wisps of wind. His hair splays out behind him as they ride, like he's wearing a snowy cape.</p><p class="p1">"You'll see!"</p><p class="p1">Ethari guides them onto a loop, then off on a small road that cuts through a denser patch of trees. He doesn't travel this path too much—Runaan rarely ever goes here—but enough that even with the sun beginning to set and the shadows lengthening overhead and beneath their feet, he finds his way easily. In the distance, a small village pops into view, buildings and houses alit with magic.</p><p class="p1">"Iced treats and sweets," Runaan reads aloud as they come to a halt in front of a small shop. "Wait. I've been here before."</p><p class="p1">"Correct." Ethari dismounts and gestures at the building, carved into the side of a hill. The soft green grass acts as an awning while delicate pink and white flowers decorate the window sills and pillars. Even from the outside, they can hear laughter and the clinking of metal spoons against glass bowls. The smell is heavenly. "We came here once when we were courting."</p><p class="p1">"Ah." Runaan's eyes light up as he remembers. His posture lightens as he reminisces, his eyebrows relaxing as the atmosphere of the small cafe begins to conquer his doubts. "You ate too much and couldn't walk back."</p><p class="p1">Ethari grins and opens the door. "I'm glad you have such fond memories of that night," he teases, ushering Runaan into the shop.</p><p class="p1">"Mm. That's what made me fall for you, you know. Your inability to digest sweets."</p><p class="p1">"I knew it."</p><p class="p1">Ethari strolls up to the counter where a young Earthblood elf eagerly tells him all about the newest delicacies on display—"I grew these berries myself," they crow proudly—before offering him a sample of their new persimmon iced treats, something that both Ethari and Runaan find to their liking.</p><p class="p1">"Two persimmon iced treats, then?" the Earthblood elf asks, grabbing their order and heading over to the payment counter.</p><p class="p1">Runaan goes to pull out his money pouch but Ethari stops him. "No, no," he says, shaking his head and pulling Runaan's hand away from his pouch. "It's my treat."</p><p class="p1">"But—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari slams two coins onto the counter before Runaan can finish protesting. As the assassin sputters indignantly, Ethari gratefully accepts the iced treats from the Earthblood elf and offers one to his husband.</p><p class="p1">"Really, Ethari..."</p><p class="p1">"Hey. Listen. This was my idea, and I'm not going to make you pay for something I wanted to do."</p><p class="p1">Runaan shoots him him patented side-eye. "We live together, Ethari. We share a home. We share everything, and that includes our finances—"</p><p class="p1">"Ah, no, no, no," Ethari cuts in, holding up a finger to his husband's lips. "No need to go into specifics. Can't we just enjoy the moment?"</p><p class="p1">A soft sigh falls from Runaan's lips, warm and fleeting on the skin of Ethari's hand. "Fine," he eventually concedes. Then, kindly, "thank you, Ethari."</p><p class="p1">"Anything for you, moonlight."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi friends,</p><p>recently a Big Name author tweeted some more really painful and explicitly transphobic stuff! in the midst of all the protests <i>and</i> pride month! if you, like me, were angered beyond belief and want to channel that energy somewhere productive, allow me to introduce you to the <a href="https://marshap.org/">Marsha P. Johnson Institute</a>. Marsha P. Johnson was a Black trans woman (self-identified "drag queen") and one of the activists at the Stonewall uprising in 1969. Without her—or the other Black and brown queer and trans* folks—the queer community wouldn't be where we are today. I highly recommend reading through their <a href="https://marshap.org/about-mpji/">values</a>, and even donating if you have the means! If you know of other organizations that support Black queer folks, please let me know!!</p><p>take care of yourselves out there.</p><p>love,<br/>toesalignedarch</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I'll walk you home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>going back to young ruthari! mentions of underage drinking (although, we technically don't know what the drinking age is in Xadia, hm?) and partying, though nothing too wild.</p><p>love to update multiple times in a day! if you are subscribed to this work or to me, I'm so sorry for all the emails you've been getting, please forgive me</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Teenagers, Runaan decides right then and there, are the worst.</p><p class="p1">Never mind that he's technically a teen himself—though no one ever refers to him as one; it's always "young adult" with him—or that those he calls friends are in their teenage years. Forget that he finds old elves stubborn and insufferable, or that infant elves are whiny and useless. No, none of that matters. Because instead of focusing on bettering themselves for their village or pursuing their choice of career, the teenage elves of the Silvergrove have decided to party.</p><p class="p1">Yes, that's right. You heard him. <em>Party</em>.</p><p class="p1">He's currently standing against a wall of someone's parent's basement, nose wrinkling at the smell of sweat and alcohol, ears flattened against his skull at the din. Someone's brought along an enchanted bouquet of Melodaisies, which are shrieking a generous rendition of a traditional Moonshadow tune, not that anyone's paying the song any mind.</p><p class="p1">A sort of mob has formed in the middle of the dimly lit room; vaguely he recognizes the silhouettes of Tiadrin and Lain, two of the three elves he'd actually want to talk to. Over to the left the host has set up a table of snacks and drinks, though there aren't much remaining of either. To the right, a small group of elves are playing a game. Curious, Runaan takes one step out of the shadows before hastily retreating from the scattered scoring sheets and gameplay—correction: a drinking game based on a board game.</p><p class="p1">"The worst," he mutters sulkily to no one in particular. He takes a sip from the cup in his hand and makes a face at the lukewarm water that greets him.</p><p class="p1">"Hey."</p><p class="p1">Runaan starts, nearly spilling water over himself. With the raucous cacophony he hadn't even heard anyone approach. He looks up to see the third elf he'd actually want to talk to, smiling at him.</p><p class="p1">"Hey," he says.</p><p class="p1">In one smooth motion, Ethari pivots himself so that he too is leaning with his back against the damp basement walls. Well, okay—it wasn't exactly smooth, given that he overshot his spin and had to shuffle himself back around, but Runaan finds it endearing anyway.</p><p class="p1">"Enjoying yourself?" Ethari asks, eyeing Runaan up and down.</p><p class="p1">Runaan raises an eyebrow, fighting a blush. "What do you think?"</p><p class="p1">"I think you're having the time of your life. I think you simply cannot get enough of these loud parties, and the only reason you're not dancing over there"—Ethari tilts his horns towards the middle of the room—"is because you're too good a dancer."</p><p class="p1">Runaan can't help but huff out a laugh. "How did you know," he replies dryly. "You know me so well."</p><p class="p1">"Ah, what can I say." He holds out his hand, a piece of fruit sitting in his palm. "Orange? I swiped the last two."</p><p class="p1">"Thanks." Runaan's fingers linger on Ethari's palm for just a moment too long; he feels his cheeks flush darker and immediately jerks his hand back to his side. Then again, Ethari's face is also red—but whether that's due to the alcohol or... something else, he's not sure.</p><p class="p1">"I noticed you always take the oranges whenever there's a fruit platter," Ethari tells him. "So when I saw there were two more, I thought of you."</p><p class="p1">"That's... very kind of you, Ethari." Surely he'd catch on fire if he blushed any more?</p><p class="p1">"You're welcome." Ethari beams at him. "So," he says after an awkward pause. "You're not actually enjoying this, are you?"</p><p class="p1">"Is it that obvious?"</p><p class="p1">"Let's see. You've been standing in this exact corner for the last twenty times I've looked over." Ethari raises a finger for each observation he mentions. "You look like you've swallowed a bug, and not one of the tasty ones. You're drinking"—Ethari peers into Runaan's cup—"ah, you're drinking <em>water</em>, which definitely won't make you feel any better, and you haven't talked to anyone else all night since you got here. That's a handful of reasons why I think you're not having a good time, but I could easily give you another four."</p><p class="p1">A smile drifts onto Runaan's lips. "You could be an assassin with those skills of observations," he deflects. "Not bad for a blacksmith apprentice."</p><p class="p1">"Ha, ha. You're very funny." Ethari sighs longingly and takes a long sip from his cup. Judging by the viscosity of the liquid inside, it's definitely not water. "If you don't like parties, why'd you come to this one? I always look for you at the others and I've never seen you at one until now."</p><p class="p1">"Uh," Runaan says intelligently. His mind is racing—did Ethari just say he looked for him at the others? Does that mean he thinks it means, what he wants it to mean? "I was dragged here. By Tiadrin and Lain."</p><p class="p1">Ethari nods with understanding. "I see," he says wisely. "That makes sense. You don't do anything you don't want to do, unless those two are involved. But if they know you don't like these things, why'd they drag you here?"</p><p class="p1">The correct answer is "because we're tired of watching you pine after him from afar and I swear by the Moon, you're gonna do something about it tonight!" but it's not like he's going to admit <em>that</em> to Ethari. Instead, Runaan mumbles a half-hearted excuse about watching over his drunk friends.</p><p class="p1">"Aw," Ethari coos. "That's very sweet of you. I'm drunk too, you know."</p><p class="p1">"I can see that."</p><p class="p1">"So then, would you take care of me too?" Ethari leans closer, lips pursed in a slight pout, eyes wide and innocent.</p><p class="p1">"I—yes?" It's a miracle any words come out of Runaan's mouth at all. His heart is pounding so loudly it's muting the noise; his ears are ringing like he's underwater. Too late he realizes that his voice had cracked when he answered Ethari; he clears his throat and tries again. "Yes," he says firmly. "I would."</p><p class="p1">Ethari hums happily. He's somehow pressed up against Runaan's side, and his skin is on <em>fire</em>. No one's looking at them, the two elves tucked away in a dark corner, but Runaan is hyperventilating anyway. Hasn't he dreamed of this, of having Ethari burrowed into his side? Hasn't he yearned to feel exactly how soft the hair on his head is, memorize the grooves on his horns?</p><p class="p1">A sense of purpose fills him. Before he can overthink it, Runaan raises a hand and places it gently on top of Ethari's head. Hearing no complaints, he begins to run his fingers ever so slightly through Ethari's hair. Moon above, that's soft.</p><p class="p1">Ethari hums again, leaning more heavily against him. "That's nice. You're going to make me fall asleep," he murmurs into Runaan's skin.</p><p class="p1">"Asleep?" Runaan glances around incredulously. "It's so loud in here."</p><p class="p1">"Yeah, but this." Ethari raises his own hand and drops it on top of Runaan's. "This is very"—he squeezes his eyes shut for a large yawn and doesn't reopen them—"very nice. Mm. Good night."</p><p class="p1">"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay." Runaan removes his hand, to Ethari's—and his—disappointment. "This is no place to sleep properly. Do you want to go home?"</p><p class="p1">A closed-eye nod. </p><p class="p1">"Who did you come here with? I'll go find them and make them bring you home."</p><p class="p1">"Runaan, wait." Ethari's eyes are open now, brown irises boring into his own. "I'm sorry."</p><p class="p1">Runaan frowns. "Sorry for what?"</p><p class="p1">"For... for..." Ethari trails off as another yawn cuts him off. "This isn't quite how I thought this conversation would go. I had it all planned out, you know."</p><p class="p1">"This...conversation?" Runaan asks hesitantly.</p><p class="p1">"I was supposed to tell you that I think you're incredibly handsome and talented, and ask if you wanted to go on a date. And then I got nervous, and had too much to drink, and now I'm rambling." His brows furrow and he pouts. "And sleepy."</p><p class="p1">"Oh?" Runaan feels like he can fly. Is this how winged Skywing elves feel when they soar on air currents? "A date?"</p><p class="p1">He feels Ethari stiffen against his side. "Um," says Ethari, smiling sheepishly. "Do you think you could just forget I said all that out loud?"</p><p class="p1">"Not a chance. No, wait, please don't leave. I was actually supposed to tell you the same thing. And ask you the same thing. Tiadrin and Lain dragged me here because they told me if I didn't have an honest conversation with you, they'd never let me get a peaceful night's rest for the rest of eternity."</p><p class="p1">Ethari's eyes are wide open, mouth slack in shock. "You were going to ask me? On a <em>date</em>?"</p><p class="p1">"That was the plan. I was doing a decent job, wasn't I? Standing in the corner all by myself?"</p><p class="p1">"I would've said yes. If you'd asked me, I mean."</p><p class="p1">Runaan decides right then and there that Ethari's smile is worth braving hours of teenage stench and ear-piercing headaches. It's like staring into a thousand suns, and basking in his glow feels like the blessing of a thousand moons.</p><p class="p1">Another startling yawn from Ethari interrupts his inner poetry, and Runaan smiles. A genuine smile. "All right, you. Come on, get up. I'll walk you home."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it's been brought to my attention that I apparently like writing things based on numbers—<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336272/chapters/55902820">eight kisses</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033647">four crescent moons</a>, and now this one. all I can say is... at least I'm doing my math degree proud? </p><p>I mean this isn't exactly what I thought I'd be using my math degree for but hey</p><p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. have a good day at work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>short chapter! short and sweet, as some might say</p><p>in all honesty I have no idea how apprenticeships work, but I'm assuming you work under an expert for a while and then when you get good enough, you get to be on your own...? idk that's just what I went with, so close enough i guess!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time in a long time, Ethari is awake at the crack of dawn. By nature, he's more of a nighttime creature, preferring to stay in the forge until the wee hours of the morning rather than waking up before the sun. But today is a special day, and special days call for special measures.</p><p>Runaan is awake, as usual, and is just coming out of their shared bathroom by the time Ethari finishes pulling on his pants.</p><p>"Oh," he says, surprised. "Good morning, Ethari. When you'd said you were getting up early, I didn't realize it would be this early."</p><p>"Good morning, moonlight." Ethari gives Runaan a quick kiss on the cheek as the elf squeezes past him awkwardly—Runaan isn't used to having company at this hour and seems unsure of what to do. "First day as an actual smith, you know. Couldn't sleep much last night anyway."</p><p>"I noticed," Runaan murmurs. The room is cast into silence, save the rustling of clothing as Runaan gathers up and changes into his uniform. Soft rays of initial sunlight filter in through the window, illuminating the particles of dust stirred up by his movements.</p><p>They do another stilted shuffle as Ethari tries to head into the bathroom the same instant Runaan tries to leave the bedroom, smiling lightly when they dance into each other's way. Finally, Runaan steps aside and gestures towards the bathroom door with a sweeping bow, shoulders shaking slightly from his laughter. (Ethari smacks him—gently—on the head as he passes).</p><p>When Ethari emerges from their bedroom looking less disheveled and more like a proper smith, Runaan's already finished his scant breakfast of tea and fruit. The rest of his assassin's uniform is in a neat pile by the front door, along with his beloved bowblade and a pack full of the necessities to get through a grueling day of training. If he looks carefully enough, Ethari thinks he can recognize the outline of a persimmon tart against the fabric.</p><p>Catching sight of him, Runaan hands him a plate of toasted bread and moonberry jam. "Your favorite," he says, as if Ethari needed reminding. </p><p>"You made this for me?" Ethari asks, graciously accepting the plate and settling into a chair at the table.</p><p>"Of course. I wish I could stay and eat with you but"—Runaan glances out the window at the sun, almost fully visible over the trees—"I'm afraid I would be late if I did. I should be off, then."</p><p>"No worries, moonlight." Ethari takes a voracious bite of the toast and sighs in approval as he tastes the sweet moonberry jam. "This is delicious, Runaan. Best toast I've ever had in my life."</p><p>"It's just toast," Runaan mumbles under his breath, his cheeks aglow with a light dusting of pink. "But you're welcome." Runaan drops a light kiss on top of his head. "Have a good day at work."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I dreamt of you last night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mention of character death (in a dream)!! some angst/comfort for you all on this delightful Tuesday</p>
<p>the exact relationship between Runaan and Ethari here is up in the air—definitely together, but possibly not yet married? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  ("not me," I, the author, the person who wrote this, says)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">In his dream, Ethari sees the Silvergrove. He sees the swaying tall grasses, can hear the distant tunes of Melodaisies, can almost taste the sweetness of fresh moonberry surprise on the tip of his tongue. This is not an unusual setting for his dreams; most of them occur in the village he calls home. It's the second most common elements that his dreams share, right after...</p>
<p class="p1">Runaan.</p>
<p class="p1">This time, Runaan doesn't appear by his side like he usually does, but rather is on the far end of the village. Deep within him, Ethari feels a tugging, a sense of longing, as if being away from Runaan was physical pain. (Ethari's quite familiar with this feeling; after all, it doesn't only happen in his dreams).</p>
<p class="p1">"Runaan," he hears his dream-self call out. His own words echo and warble in his ears like the ripples of a disturbed puddle. But dream-Runaan doesn't wave back, doesn't even acknowledge his presence even as Ethan begins to run towards him. Instead, dream-Runaan collapses onto the ground, crumpling like thin foil against a frustrated palm.</p>
<p class="p1">"No," Ethari gasps, sliding to his knees by Runaan's side. "No, no, <em>no!</em>" His knees are covered in blood. His hands, scrabbling at Runaan's chest plate, are soon soaked too.</p>
<p class="p1">Dream-Runaan lifts a trembling hand and places it weakly on Ethari's. "I'm fine," comes his raspy voice. "I'm fine..."</p>
<p class="p1">Ethari sits up, panting. It takes him a moment to realize that the sounds of a dying elf's last breath is merely the wind, billowing gently through the cracked window, rustling the curtains.</p>
<p class="p1">"Moon save me," he murmurs as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He'd dreamed about Runaan more times than he could count, but never like this. "That was almost too real..."</p>
<p class="p1">His voice trails off as he suddenly remembers that today is the day Runaan returns from a mission. Jolting like he's been struck by lightning, Ethari springs out of bed and dresses so rapidly he nearly tears a hole through his shirt. He barely brushes his hair—but stops to brush his teeth because while he may be in a rush, he's no barbarian—and grabs only an orange on his way out the door.</p>
<p class="p1">It's still early, but the sun has been up for hours; Ethari can feel the slow warmth of the light warming the dewy grass beneath his bare feet as he runs, then slows into a brisk walk, towards the assassins' training pavilion. He glances around as he moves, eyes darting around for a familiar curve of the horn or a telltale silver braid.</p>
<p class="p1">There's a small group of elves—no more than ten—already gathered at the pavilion by the time he arrives. He recognizes a fellow smith and exchanges tense nods. The atmosphere is optimistic; no one had heard that the mission hadn't been successful, but one can never be too careful.</p>
<p class="p1">"They'll be coming through soon," he overhears an elf say to another. "I felt the magic shift a few moments ago, that must've been the outer border."</p>
<p class="p1">Ethari trains his eyes to the veil, eyes straining to catch any uncharacteristic shimmer in the illusion that protects the Silvergrove from outsiders. Finally, <em>finally</em>, a silhouette appears. A whisper runs through the crowd then vanishes as more figures emerge from thin air. Ethari holds his breath as he counts one, two, three—no one else comes through the illusion and his heart nearly stops—but there, on the far left, the front of a horn and the length of a bowblade he'd recognize anywhere—</p>
<p class="p1">Cheers erupt from the crowd. The four elves, now fully visible, begin their descent from the top of the hill down to the pavilion.</p>
<p class="p1">"Thank the Moon, they've all made it back," an elf behind him sighs in relief.</p>
<p class="p1">Ethari agrees, but can't speak—his full attention is on Runaan. The assassin leader walks with the same confidence he left with, chin tilted upwards and eyes looking forever into the infinite distance—at least, until the eyes are focused right on him. Ethari swallows thickly and lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding for so long. Runaan dips his head ever so slightly in a nod, and the tension flows out of Ethari's shoulders. For the first time since Runaan left, Ethari feels. He feels the soreness of his arms, the tightness in his lower back from his frenzied sleep, exhaustion from his worries, and—most of all—gratitude. Gratitude that his assassin has defied the odds yet again, that he has made it back alive.</p>
<p class="p1">It's nearly an hour later that Ethari finally gets to see him. The other elves have disappeared, either wandering off on their own or hanging onto their respective assassins and dragging them home for a warm meal and a bath. Runaan's the last one to emerge from the pavilion, shutting and locking the door behind him.</p>
<p class="p1">"Why do you look so worried?" Runaan asks him, by way of greeting.</p>
<p class="p1">Ethari wraps Runaan's lithe frame in his arms and holds on tight. "I dreamt about you last night," he whispers shakily.</p>
<p class="p1">"Oh?" He can hear the amusement in Runaan's voice, feel the silent laughter in his arms as Runaan reciprocates the embrace. "And you were so inspired by said dream that you ran to greet me?"</p>
<p class="p1">"You'd died. Right in my arms."</p>
<p class="p1">Runaan stills. "Oh, Ethari," he murmurs after a long pause. A hand comes up to stroke at his hair, fingers catching on the tangled knots leftover from his fretful slumber. He grabs Ethari's hand and places it over his heart. "I'm right here. See? I'm right here."</p>
<p class="p1">It's reassuring to feel the steady heartbeat, to feel the rise and fall of Runaan's chest as he takes in each breath. Ethari finds himself matching his breath to Runaan's, each inhale surrounding him with the comforting scent of his beloved. Runaan's hands are still in his hair, stroking slowly, absently.</p>
<p class="p1">Ethari feels his tension ebbing, his worries melting away. Now, he's overcome by exhaustion. He slumps slightly in Runaan's arms and he feels him chuckle.</p>
<p class="p1">"Home?" Runaan asks softly.</p>
<p class="p1">He nods. "Home," Ethari agrees.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don't usually write hurt/comfort stuff, but I couldn't help but do so because I've had so many emotions recently. </p>
<p>If you can, please look up local organizations and events that you can support with your presence, your money, or your time. If you aren't angry, why not? If you aren't speaking up about police brutality and the Black Lives Matter movement, why not? See below for reasons why you should be angry and pissed.</p>
<p>Black lives matter. Black trans* lives matter. </p>
<p>take care of yourselves and each other.</p>
<p>love,<br/>toesalignedarch</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>TW/CW for the following paragraph:</b> death, police violence, police brutality, sexual assault, harm to Black lives and bodies</p>
<p>
  <i>In the past week in the US at least 5 Black people have been found hanging from trees (<a href="https://www.thecut.com/2020/06/what-we-know-about-robert-fuller-and-malcolm-harschs-deaths.html">see an article on 2 of them, Robert Fuller and Malcolm Harsch, here</a>), Oluwatoyin Salau, a 19-year old Black activist, <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2020/06/15/us/toyin-salau-black-lives-matter-found-dead-trnd/index.html">was found dead after she'd publically tweeted about her sexual assault</a> and the police did nothing, multiple Black women and girls have gone missing. Breonna Taylor's murderers—Jonathan Mattingly, Myles Cosgrove, and Brett Hankison—have yet to be charged. Black trans women are still being killed and brutalized, as in the case of <a href="https://www.hrc.org/blog/hrc-mourns-dominique-remmie-fells-black-trans-woman-killed-in-philadelphia">Dominique "Rem'mie" Fells</a> and countless others.</i>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. take my seat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>woohoo! and we're back with another pre-marriage, pre-courting scenario! imagine this as a first-date of sorts :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">In retrospect, it's his own fault. Should he have prepared last night? Probably. Should he have kept better track of time? Most likely. Should he have taken that midday nap that turned into a longer slumber? No. But it's too late to rue that decision now.</p><p class="p1">Ethari's hastily thrown-together sack bounces against his back as he runs through the woods. He prays that he isn't leaving a trail of personal belongings behind him, but he doesn't have time to check. Up ahead, Ethari can see the lights of the fair, can almost smell the sugar from the fried dough, feel the oil from the popped corn, and taste the tart moonberry candy.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan's going to kill me," he mutters as he pulls up to the front entrance, a colorful arch constructed from vines and flowers, guarded by a friendly looking Earthblood elf. For the briefest moment he considers running right through, but one look at the Earthblood elf's wooden club and he quickly decides against it. Ethari purchases a ticket as fast he can and nearly bowls over a mother and young elf in his haste to get to the amphitheater.</p><p class="p1">Moon save him, it's crowded. His heart starts to sink as he watches the hundreds of elves making their way to the amphitheater for the show—in the back of his head, a fear that he won't be able to get a good seat gnaws at his consciousness. But more importantly, how is he supposed to find Runaan now?</p><p class="p1">"Ethari!"</p><p class="p1">It seems like the Moon is shining down on him tonight. He sees the one elf he's looking for walking his way, the crowd parting around him like water. Runaan, dressed in casual robes, looks stunning. This would be maybe the third time Ethari's seen him without his typical uniform, and by the Moon, he wouldn't mind seeing this casual elf some more.</p><p class="p1">Runaan wears a lighthearted smile and a garland of delicate blue flower on the crown of his head that bring out the depth of his eyes. In his hands is a bag of freshly popped corn kernels—Ethari's heart flutters when he remembers Runaan explicitly telling him that he doesn't actually like popped corn—and a bottle of moonberry juice.</p><p class="p1">Ethari can't stop staring.</p><p class="p1">"Hi," Runaan says, coming to a stop beside him. He jabs a sharp elbow into Ethari's side and hands him the popped corn. "Took you long enough."</p><p class="p1">That's all it takes to recover his senses. "I know, I know, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time."</p><p class="p1">Runaan huffs. "And to think this"—he gestures at the lights and din around them—"was all your idea to begin with." His voice drops a few registers in a poor impression of Ethari, exaggeratedly rolling his R's as he continues, "<em>Runaan, there's a festival happening in a few nights with a big, grand weapons demonstration that I'll be going to for inspiration purposes and I was wondering if you would like to attend with me</em>—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari sends a reciprocating elbow into his side. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" he asks with a sigh as they blend into the movement of the crowd.</p><p class="p1">The smirk that emerges on Runaan's lips leaves him breathless. "Never."</p><p class="p1">By the time they reach the line to enter the amphitheater, Ethari's devoured the entire bag of popped corn. His hands, now covered in oil and salt, grip tightly onto his ticket, covering the colored paper with stains.</p><p class="p1">"What seat did you get?" Ethari asks, peering curiously to get a glimpse at the numbers stamped on Runaan's ticket.</p><p class="p1">Runaan shows him his unstained voucher and he groans.</p><p class="p1">"Oh, come on," Ethari whines. "You got the best seat!"</p><p class="p1">"I arrived on time and got to choose the best seat," Runaan corrects teasingly. "You arrived late and this is what you get. Where are you seated?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari displays his nearly illegible ticket. "Back corner," he bemoans, shoulders slumping forward in defeat. "I'll consider myself lucky if I can tell what kind of weapon they're holding from back there."</p><p class="p1">"Ah, the irony..."</p><p class="p1">Runaan glances at his companion out of the corner of his eye, then looks to the front of the line. They're only a few places away from being admitted into the theatre, and the stern looking Sunfire elf gathering tickets is moving the line along quickly. "No substitutions," she barks at a group of teenagers. When one of them steps forward with an explanation, she shoos them out of the line, shouting, "one ticket per elf and one elf per seat. You get the ticket you get. No switching!"</p><p class="p1">"Someone's cranky," Runaan mutters out of the corner of his mouth. Ethari's lips twitch feebly before falling back into a slight pout. It doesn't take a genius to understand why Ethari's upset, and it doesn't take a genius for Runaan to realize what he has to do—what he <em>wants </em>to do. He extends the hand holding his pristine ticket. "Here."</p><p class="p1">Ethari looks up. "What?"</p><p class="p1">"Come on, hurry. Take it." Runaan waves his hand impatiently.</p><p class="p1">When Ethari still doesn't accept it, Runaan rolls his eyes and forces his ticket into his hand, snatching Ethari's ticket in return. "Just take my seat."</p><p class="p1">Ethari looks down at new, clean slip of paper and frowns. "Why?"</p><p class="p1">"This is the whole reason we're here, no? So you can become inspired for your work in the smithy? It'd be a shame if you came all the way here and didn't get to see anything."</p><p class="p1">Ethari feels his cheeks burning. "But what about you?"</p><p class="p1">"I've seen enough real fights to know that a weapons demonstration won't be enough to keep my interest," Runaan lies. "Now act natural, we're approaching Commander Cranky."</p><p class="p1">The strict Sunfire elf accepts their tickets together, glancing suspiciously at Ethari's oily hands and the equally-as-oily ticket in Runaan's possession. She looks like she's about to say something; and maybe it's Runaan's steely expression or Ethari's sheepish (borderline guilty) smile, but she lets them in without a word, choosing to bark at the group behind them for not having their tickets ready for her inspection.</p><p class="p1">"You know," Ethari says slowly as they file into the amphitheater, walking down the stone steps that descend into the vast seating area. "This show isn't the only reason we're here."</p><p class="p1">"Oh?" Runaan arches an eyebrow. "Pray tell, why else are we here?"</p><p class="p1">They've reached the point where they'd have to separate: Ethari needs to continue forward to reach his—originally Runaan's—seat while Runaan will inch along the back row to get to his.</p><p class="p1">"Well." Ethari clears his throat. "If you haven't figured that out by now, you're not as observant as they say you are. But here's a hint." He darts forward before he can lose his courage and plants a quick kiss on the side of Runaan's face.</p><p class="p1">Pulling away like he's just touched fire, Ethari grins at the furious blush that dusts Runaan's cheekbones and waves innocently. "See you after the show!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated :)</p><p>I hope you are taking care of yourselves out there in the big bad world!! </p><p>I've recently been reading some books and papers by Black authors and can I just say—Tomi Adeyemi's <a href="https://www.tomiadeyemi.com/books/">Children of Blood and Bone</a> is a <i>fantastic</i> read: inspired by works like Harry Potter, Avatar: the Last Airbender, and the Hunger Games, it's a fantasy in West African mythology and it. is. so. good. I stayed up all night reading it, and my lack of sleep was absolutely worth it! I have so much respect for the author, especially since she said on an interview "I was going to create something so good and so black that even their racist ass was going to see it." Incredible!!!</p><p>I also recently acquired the ebook of<a href="https://twitter.com/haymarketbooks/status/1266407238270410766?lang=en">Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect? Police Violence and Resistance in the United States</a> for free (see link for where to get it, I hope it's still accessible!) and <a href="https://www.versobooks.com/books/2817-the-end-of-policing">The End of Policing</a> (also ebook). I'm making my way through those, and I recently placed an order at my local bookstore for <a href="http://becomingmsburton.com/">Becoming Ms. Burton: From Prison to Recovery to Leading the Fight for Incarcerated Women</a>. </p><p>I'm really looking forward to reading these and learning how the system "works" (and by "works" I mean "doesn't work") and how best to enact change. </p><p>If you have other books and resources that you've seen that you'd like to share, please do! I'm always looking for more things to learn from :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. I saved a piece for you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can't really say what inspired this or why I chose to go this route with this prompt, but here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ <br/>please accept this offering of married ruthari with a brief cameo from Tiadrin and Lain!</p><p>also, turns out strawberry shortcake is <a href="https://thedragonprince.com/the-dragon-prince-january-character-birthdays/">canon</a> so that's fun!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Runaan has never really understood why these sorts of events were called "baby showers." There is never a shower, not even a <em>baby</em>, and definitely not a shower made of (or for?) babies. And yet here he is, standing in Tiadin and Lain's house, celebrating her "baby shower."</p><p class="p1">The interior has been decorated with fresh flowers and colorful fabrics, which Ethari considered "festive" (and Runaan considered "overwhelmingly obnoxious"), and the smell of freshly baked pastries fills the room. A small gathering of elves are crowded inside the living room, chattering happily and sipping moonberry juice from see-through cups. Amid the mess is Tiadrin herself, the lady of the hour. Despite her large stomach, she's still an impressively intimidating figure—not afraid to use her pregnancy to her advantage, she is both loving, coddling mother and fierce, protective warrior, and it's impossible to deny her what she wants. (Including his and Ethari's attendance at this very event, despite Runaan's strong aversions to events).</p><p class="p1">So far, he's managed to stay out of the way. He's used Ethari as a shield to hide from the more talkative elves, an excuse to leave multiple conversations ("my apologies, I do believe my husband needs me"), and a prop to appear busy ("quick, Ethari, pretend I said something funny"). Ethari, ever the good-natured elf, takes it all in stride.</p><p class="p1">"You know," his husband says out of the corner of his mouth while he and Runaan ladle more moonberry juice into their glasses. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't want to be here."</p><p class="p1">"Sh!" Runaan hisses, looking around for Tiadrin. "Don't let her hear you say that. She already threatened to paint my horns if I didn't come."</p><p class="p1">Ethari laughs and flicks his horns affectionately. "I think you'd look <em>dashing</em> with pink horns," he says innocently. At Runaan's glare, he chuckles and relents. "Fine, fine. It's not so bad, is it? I think the games are starting soon—"</p><p class="p1">"<em>Games</em>?"</p><p class="p1">"Yes, games." Ethari eyes him curiously. "You didn't think we'd just be standing around talking the entire time?"</p><p class="p1">"I prayed we wouldn't," Runaan says. "But <em>games</em>? Moon above, Ethari, that's almost worse than standing around and chattering aimlessly. What kind of games could we possibly play with Tiadrin in this state—"</p><p class="p1">His complaints are cut off when Lain, red in the face from all the praise he's been receiving, claps his hands loudly. When all the attendees turn towards him, he beams.</p><p class="p1">"Hello, all," he calls loudly. "Tiadrin and I would like to thank you for coming, and—"</p><p class="p1">"Not like we had a choice," Runaan grumbles. Ethari elbows him in the side and shoots him a look.</p><p class="p1">"—I am so happy that all of you are just as excited as I am for our newest member of the family. But, before she arrives, we have some games to play!" He pauses while a light-hearted cheer erupts from the crowd, the sound of joy just loud enough to cover Runaan's groan of exasperation.</p><p class="p1">"These are not your ordinary games, though," Lain continues. "To make things a little more interesting, Tiadrin and I have gathered together some prizes! We've got some fresh moonberry moscato, some baked goods from the bakery, and"—with a flourish, Lain unveils a small box that had been hidden in the back of the room—"a strawberry shortcake."</p><p class="p1">A ripple of awe spreads through the crowd, and Runaan doesn't blame them.</p><p class="p1">"Aren't strawberry shortcakes a human food?" Ethari asks under his breath.</p><p class="p1">"They started as a human recipe," Runaan murmurs back. He raises his voice slightly as the elves around them start to have the same conversation they're having. "Some Xadians adapted the recipe a few years ago, but I've never seen a strawberry shortcake myself."</p><p class="p1">Ethari's eyes are twinkling. "Interesting," he muses, and Runaan can practically see the gears in his head turning as the smith plots his path to victory.</p><p class="p1">"Now, now," Lain says at the front of the room, drawing everyone's attention again. "I understand some of your confusion. I swear on the Moon, we acquired the strawberry shortcake from a reputable source and it is definitely not poisoned, a human trap, or harmful in any way, shape, or form. It's perfectly safe to consume—"</p><p class="p1">"Yes, dear," Tiadrin interrupts, a large smile plastered to her mouth while her eyes shoot daggers at her husband. Smart move; all of Lain's reassurances have made the crowd nervous. "I think we should get on with the games, no?"</p><p class="p1">"Right! The games."</p><p class="p1">"I think that's my cue to leave," Runaan whispers to Ethari. "I've seen enough, and I have plenty of work to do."</p><p class="p1">Ethari gives him a pleading look, but even his amber eyes can't convince him to stay. "Fine," Ethari concedes. "But you'll miss out on the strawberry shortcake."</p><p class="p1">"A risk I'm willing to take," Runaan tells him. He kisses his husband on the cheek and, as Lain begins a convoluted explanation of the rules that results in chaos as the partygoers begin shouting questions, slips out the front door.</p><p class="p1">He's interrupted from sharpening his fifth training sword when Ethari walks through the door a few hours later, looking very pleased with himself.</p><p class="p1">"Oh, hello. How was the rest of the baby shower?" Runaan asks when he notices his husband.</p><p class="p1">"Wonderful, actually. Would you believe it if I told you I won one of the games?"</p><p class="p1">"I wouldn't doubt you at all," Runaan says with a smile. "I assume you chose the strawberry shortcake?"</p><p class="p1">"Of course." Ethari pretends to be offended. "Who do you think I am?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan rolls his eyes. "And?"</p><p class="p1">"Oh, it was <em>delicious</em>. I ate it in front of everyone and the looks on their faces—<em>mm</em>, it was so good. Turns out it's this mix of a soft, crumbly biscuit, sweetened whipped cream, and strawberry jelly. So terribly messy to eat with your hands"—Ethari gestures at a stain down the front of his tunic—"but so worth it."</p><p class="p1">"Sounds like you enjoyed it."</p><p class="p1">"I did. Too bad you weren't there to see it."</p><p class="p1">"Well." Runaan turns back to his swords to hide his disappointment. As much as he despises humans, the thought of trying—or at least seeing—an elf-made version of their food was tempting. "Like I said earlier, a risk I'm willing to take. I actually got plenty of work done, so—"</p><p class="p1">A box falls onto the table in front of him and he starts.</p><p class="p1">"What—"</p><p class="p1">"I saved a piece for you."</p><p class="p1">He peers curiously into the box and, sure enough, a pile of deconstructed strawberry shortcake greets him cheerfully from the bottom. The cream has melted and slid all around, leaving a wet trail on the paper. Biscuit crumbs are scattered in the debris, like Ethari took the leftovers for a walk on a beach.</p><p class="p1">"It's..." Runaan struggles to find any positive word to describe that which sits before him.</p><p class="p1">Ethari peers over his shoulder into the box. "Oops," he says with a sheepish grin. "Should've been more careful with that, I suppose."</p><p class="p1">No matter. He's survived on tree bark and wilted leaves before; this is nothing compared to that. Runaan dips a finger into the mess—careful to get biscuit, strawberry, and cream all in one go—and drops the shortcake into his mouth before it can drip all over the table or his clothes.</p><p class="p1">"Mm," he hums, face lighting up in pleasant surprise. "It's actually quite good."</p><p class="p1">He earns himself a gentle pat on the cheek and a smug smile from Ethari. "You're welcome," his husband says, eyebrow raised expectantly.</p><p class="p1">Runaan takes his time, running his finger methodically along the edges of the container—none of this would go to waste on his watch—until the box shows no signs of having ever contained any strawberry shortcake. Ethari's still waiting patiently next to him, arms crossed with an amused light in his eyes, and Runaan sighs.</p><p class="p1">"Fine," he concedes. "Thank you."</p><p class="p1">Rising to his feet, he cups Ethari's face in his hands and gives him kiss. Whether the taste of strawberries comes from his husband or himself, Runaan isn't sure. But he finds that he doesn't mind it at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as always, kudos/comments are greatly appreciated!! </p><p>I've never been to a baby shower in person but I've seen plenty of them on TV so I guess that counts? idk lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ </p><p> </p><p>CW: mention of police brutality victims, prison system</p><p>something that I've been grappling with lately is the dichotomy between calling for cops to be arrested and how the carceral state must be abolished. yes, the murderers of Breonna Taylor need to be fired and must not be re-hired by other police departments, but calling for cops to arrest cops? it's been proven time and time again that putting people into prisons doesn't help them and in fact harms them. not only that, but the carceral state mostly affects Black and brown people, who will then lose their right to vote while inflating population numbers for rural areas that they don't even live in. while i want justice for Breonna Taylor and all the other victims of police brutality, what does justice look like if there are no prisons? arresting murderers shouldn't ever be the end goal—we need to address the root of the problem</p><p>I don't have the answers but I'm reading more on this issue specifically!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. I'm sorry for your loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>despite the title of this chapter it isn't actually sad, I promise! I did my best to think of a scenario where the words "I'm sorry for your loss" aren't spoken in sympathetic tones, and this was the best I could come up with 😂 interpret that how you will</p><p>featuring not-yet-courting Ruthari, some made-up metal working competition, and an incomplete ending because this chapter was getting waaaay too long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">"Attention, everyone."</p><p class="p1">The chatter ceases immediately. A hundred pairs of eager eyes turn to face the podium, where a Moonshadow elf dressed in majestic midnight blue stands, voice magically magnified to broadcast over the vast grassy field.</p><p class="p1">"I'm here to announce the results of this year's metalworking competition." The elf clears their throat and waits for the excited murmurs to settle before dramatically unrolling a length of parchment. "The judges have decided to award the third place medallion to a competitor who exhibited much enthusiasm and passion for their work. Their craft was well-designed, functional, and practical; the judges all expressed wonder and amazement at the collapsable staff—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari lets out a deep breath. <em>Okay, so I'm not third</em>.</p><p class="p1">The crowd around him erupts into applause as a young Earthblood elf walks to the podium, accepting the bronze medallion. Ethari recognizes her and her work—she'd created an extendable staff that, at its smallest, fits into the palm of a child and can grow into a formidable weapon that adjusts to the size of the wielder. It had been impressive, and she deserves a third place rank.</p><p class="p1">When the cheers die down, the elf at the podium unfurls some more of the parchment. "The judges would like to call to the podium the two finalists in this year's metalworking competition. When I call your name, please make your way to the front of the crowd."</p><p class="p1">His blood rushes to his ears, his heart pounding so loudly it seems to echo, and he almost misses when the announcer reads out, "and Ethari of the Moonshadow elves." Only when the other Moonshadow smiths cry out in joy does he snap out of it.</p><p class="p1">"Moon bless you, Ethari!" one of his coworker shouts, slapping him on the back. The sting from impact gives him the strength to make his way to the front of the crowd, where he finds himself standing side by side with a middle-aged Sunfire elf.</p><p class="p1">He nods courteously at the fellow honoree—who'd crafted a set of stunning throwing knives that, no matter how they were thrown, would always orient themselves towards each other and, once they made impact, would melt together and form a solid beam. When the elf had demonstrated how the weapon worked, Ethari had watched in amazement when the pair of knives pierced a tree on opposite sides, then morphed into one long glowing metal bar that severed and charred the tree trunk almost instantaneously.</p><p class="p1"><em>Handy for throwing while running</em>, Ethari acknowledges. <em>If you don't have time to aim, you can just throw the knives in the general direction and the force of the blades coming together is enough to pierce your target. Or at least trip them, if you miss entirely.</em></p><p class="p1">He swallows thickly as the announcer unrolls the last bit of parchment.</p><p class="p1">"The judges would like to commend these two elves for their ingenuity, dedication, and attention to detail. While it was a close call, the judges have award the first place medallion to the elf whose ability to think outside the box has opened our minds to the possibilities of sun forged weapons and the instantaneous melting and reforming of metals—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari's heart sinks. In the crowd, he sees in real time as the realization dawns on his cohort; watches as their excited grins turn to sympathetic frowns, as their raised fists of victory slide slowly back down to their sides.</p><p class="p1">The rest of the ceremony is a blur—he vaguely remembers shaking the hands of the Sunfire elf, whose smile is kind and genuine; he somehow makes his way back to his team, who offer him comforting hugs, whispers of "you'll get it next time," and gentle pats on the back. It isn't until he's back in the Silvergrove when his disappointment catches up to him. He bids farewell to his companions and, without even thinking about it, makes his way to the reflecting pool.</p><p class="p1">He's always spent a lot of time here whenever he's been overwhelmed with emotion—he remembers spending hours here when he first found out he'd been accepted as an apprentice in the forge, and even more hours when he'd failed his first task and gotten someone injured because of it. Now, he sits on the edge of the pool, his failed submission tucked in the shadows, and stares at his feet.</p><p class="p1">The other elf deserved to win—this much he understands; after all, a weapon that morphs at will is an incredible feat that he'd never even dreamed could be created—but it still hurts. The silver medallion weighs heavily in his pocket and he takes it out.</p><p class="p1">"Second place honoree," he reads aloud from the engraving. Ethari sighs bitterly and shoves the metal circle away, suddenly unable to look at it for another second.</p><p class="p1">He's so lost in his own head that he doesn't notice Runaan approaching until the elf is right beside him.</p><p class="p1">"There you are."</p><p class="p1">Ethari jumps and lets out a breathy laugh when he recognizes who it is. "Runaan. Nearly scared me to the Moon."</p><p class="p1">There's a soft smile on Runaan's lips. "Apologizes for startling you. May I join you?"</p><p class="p1">When Ethari nods, he settles gingerly against the rim of the pool, movements so light and ethereal he looks like he's floating in midair.</p><p class="p1">"I heard about the results," Runaan says into the still air, gaze directed upwards at the afternoon sky and clouds.</p><p class="p1">Ethari braces himself for the inevitable congratulations, but it never comes. "You're not going to congratulate me?" he asks after a long moment of silence.</p><p class="p1">Runaan's eyes are hard to read when he turns to look at him. "Do you want me to?"</p><p class="p1">"No," he answers truthfully. "I'm tired of everyone telling me that second place isn't that bad."</p><p class="p1">"Mm."</p><p class="p1">"I mean"—Ethari runs an agitated hand through his hair, words tumbling out of him like he's burst open the dam that's been blocking his throat ever since the ceremony—"I'm grateful to be one of the honorees. But I knew I would be. I know I'm good at what I do, and I know what I make is considered some of the best in Xadia. But..."</p><p class="p1">"But?" Runaan prompts quietly.</p><p class="p1">"But... I don't know." Ethari laughs, a resigned edge to his voice. "How can I compete with knives that combine and separate automatically? Why didn't I think of that? I guess—I mean, I know, but—I'm just disappointed. In myself. For not having thought of something more creative, but mostly for being so confident in thinking I would win before I even got to the competition." He kicks at his creation in frustration.</p><p class="p1">Runaan looks at the wrapped package. "May I?"</p><p class="p1">"Go ahead. It's useless to me now."</p><p class="p1">Ethari keeps his gaze averted as Runaan unwraps the haphazardly wrapped weapon. He doesn't want to see Runaan's reaction, doesn't want to witness Runaan pretending to find it interesting. But when the silence stretches too long, he can't help but look up.</p><p class="p1">He finds Runaan staring in awe at the bow in his hand, his expression so full of wonder that there's certainly no way he could've faked that.</p><p class="p1">"I've..." Runaan swallows and tries again. "I've never seen anything like this."</p><p class="p1">"I'd hope not. As far as I know, I made the first and only bowblade."</p><p class="p1">"Bow...blade?"</p><p class="p1">"Bowblade." Ethari holds out a hand and Runaan dutifully places the bow in his open palm. "See? Bow. And now"—there's a whirlwind of movement and a faint glow of magic—"blade. Well, blades, to be technical."</p><p class="p1">He hands the two blades to Runaan, who immediately starts to test them. Ethari watches, entranced, while Runaan whirls the blades around him, the swords acting like extensions of his arm; it's a beautiful, deadly dance that Ethari can't look away from, even if he wanted to. When the dance finishes, he demonstrates how to turn the blades back into a bow, and Ethari is rewarded with yet another intricate ritual as Runaan tests out the bow.</p><p class="p1">"These are perfect," Runaan murmurs. He runs a hand adoringly along the bow, fingers tracing the intricate carvings and runes. Something about the scene before him, something about seeing this elf hold his creation so tenderly, with such care, moves him. "Do you have plans for this?"</p><p class="p1">"You can have it," Ethari blurts out.</p><p class="p1">Runaan freezes, stunned. "Pardon?"</p><p class="p1">"You can have it," Ethari says, firmer this time. After all, it's not like he has much use for it now. At least with Runaan, the bowblade will be appreciated for its beauty and form.</p><p class="p1">"Ethari, I wasn't suggesting—I couldn't possibly—"</p><p class="p1">"It's not a big deal," he says in what he hopes is a casual tone. "I think it'll be better in your hands than hanging on my wall."</p><p class="p1">"I..." Runaan stares at the bowblade in his hand for a long time. When he looks up, his eyes are soft. "Thank you, Ethari," he says, reaching out a hand and gently gripping Ethari's hands. "I owe you a great debt."</p><p class="p1">Already, his heart feels lighter. Watching Runaan's reverence as he handles the bowblade, the awe in his eyes as he switches the weapon from bow to blades and back, fills Ethari with warmth.</p><p class="p1">Ethari sighs, but it's no longer a sound of defeat. "This day just gets worse and worse," he says. "First I lose the competition I've been working towards for the better half of the past year. Then I lose my bowblade—my blood, sweat, and tears, might I remind you—to the leader of assassins and all I get in return is his everlasting respect and a chance to hold his hand."</p><p class="p1">Runaan hesitates for a moment before patting him on his shoulder, a teasing smile barely gracing his lips. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says, barely able to hide his amusement.</p><p class="p1">"Ah, it's all right." Ethari shrugs nonchalantly. He ignores the burning of his cheeks and the rapid fluttering of his heart. "I've had worse deals."</p><p class="p1">"If it's so bad I could also throw in a favor," Runaan suggests. "Just to even things out."</p><p class="p1">"A favor?"</p><p class="p1">He nods. "I don't have anything on me that I could offer you, and I don't think you'll want anything I own. Hence, a favor. Anything you'd like. Within reason, of course."</p><p class="p1">Ethari muses for a second. <em>A favor from the mighty Runaan... </em>"Anything?"</p><p class="p1">"Within reason," Runaan reiterates. "No expiration date, so please take the time to think things through. I don't hand out favors like this often, and I expect you won't be impulsive about it."</p><p class="p1"><em>Too late</em>. <em>I've nothing else to lose at this point. </em></p><p class="p1">"About that..." Ethari has a shit-eating grin on his face that's both disarmingly charming and suspiciously alarming. "I'm ready to cash in my favor."</p><p class="p1">Runaan merely blinks at him. "Already?" the elf asks hesitantly.</p><p class="p1">"Already," Ethari confirms.</p><p class="p1">He clears his throat and steps forward, his confidence a front to hid the sudden bashfulness that sprouts from his chest. "Runaan, would you do me a favor and let me take you out to dinner?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>welp sorry for the abrupt ending! I figured at 1800 words this chapter was already long enough. maybe I'll continue this storyline somewhere in the other 90 prompts!</p><p>also, woo! 10% of the way through!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. you can have half</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm really trying my best to keep these prompts interesting by <i>not</i> going with my first idea! this one initially had me going down a path of sharing a favorite food, but I felt that was too predictable. so I did some brainstorming and came up with this! hopefully it isn't <i>that</i> out-there that it becomes unrealistic? </p><p>lmk what you think!</p><p>featuring: married husbands and a hint of a dinner party</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">"Oh, Ethari, I have the <em>funniest</em> story about that..."</p><p class="p1">Tiadrin dives into a thrilling tale about Lain's most recent encounter with Ethari's mount—one that involves a surprised beast and a paw to the horn—and the house is filled with joyful delight.</p><p class="p1">Runaan smiles and the tightness clamped around his chest loosens a bit.</p><p class="p1">He's alone, in the kitchen, though even the curtain that separates him from the rest doesn't do much to block out Lain's indignant retorts—"in my defense it was dark!" and "how was <em>I </em>supposed to know?!"—as the other elves laugh as his expense.</p><p class="p1">"You should know better than that, Lain," a warm voice says. Runaan recognizes it as the elderly blacksmith, one of Ethari's friends in the forge. "These two"—Runaan assumes she means Ethari and him—"leave their beasts all over like they own the entire village—"</p><p class="p1">"Don't we, though?" Ethari interjects, to another round of amused jeering.</p><p class="p1">Shaking his head with an affectionate sigh, Runaan grabs another plate from the stack beside him. The soapy water in the sink is already opaque with the scraps from dinner, bits of carrots and chunks of uneaten potatoes knocking into his fingers as he submerges the plate.</p><p class="p1">There's something calming about washing dishes, something about the cyclic motions of the sponge, the warm water, the repetitive assembly line of scrape, wash, dry, and stack. With every clean plate, the vice-like grip around him relaxes; as the dirty pile diminishes one by one, he feels the tension melt away from his shoulders.</p><p class="p1">Behind him, the dinner guests have moved on to teasing a new victim and judging by the uproar they seem to be enjoying it. He almost doesn't notice the curtain move aside until Ethari is right behind him.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan," he chides when he catches sight of his husband. "I thought you agreed we would clean up together once everyone leaves?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan shrugs. "I don't mind."</p><p class="p1">"I know you don't mind, but you've missed quite a good story or two." Ethari nods towards the loudest part of the house. "Don't you want to witness Lain's revenge against Tiadrin?"</p><p class="p1">"I'm sure I'll hear all about it, whether or not I want to," Runaan chuckles. He continues to scrub at the dried sauce on the plate while he talks. "The curtain isn't exactly the best at blocking out this raucous bunch."</p><p class="p1">"It's not the same if you don't see their expressions and hand gestures."</p><p class="p1">"You're going to tell me a recap anyway, so why bother? Anyway, I'm almost done. We used more plates than I thought we would." He turns his gaze to the plate in his hands, now sparkly clean, and places it off to the side to dry. "I didn't want the leftovers to dry too much."</p><p class="p1">He can feel Ethari watching him with kind eyes, feel his husband read between the lines to find the unspoken words: <em>there's work to be done and I won't rest—can't rest—until it's finished. </em></p><p class="p1">The look Ethari's giving him is a familiar one—loosely translated, it says "<em>are you serious? I thought we discussed this</em>." He usually gets this look when he stays up to late and then insists he's awake enough to fix the roof (he never is), or that time when he tried to hide a broken leg by walking on and training with it for four days.</p><p class="p1">Ethari steps up behind him and wraps his arms around Runaan's waist. "I know you get overwhelmed when there's work to do, but you promised you would tell me what's going on in that head of yours."</p><p class="p1">The pressure of Ethari's chest against his back is calming. His head clearer, Runaan sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't want to pull you away from your friends."</p><p class="p1">"Our friends," Ethari corrects automatically. "They may be our friends, but you're my husband. You'll always come first. Let me help."</p><p class="p1">"No, no," Runaan protests even as Ethari pushes his sleeves to his elbows and lifts up the stack of dirty plates. "Ethari, no. You don't need to do this. Someone needs to make sure Tiadrin doesn't burn the place down."</p><p class="p1">"I made sure to leave the candles as far from her as possible when I left. Now, shift it. I can't reach the soap with you in the way."</p><p class="p1">Runaan doesn't move. "Ethari, put the plates down. I don't want you to miss out on whatever ridiculousness is happening."</p><p class="p1">His husband is just as stubborn. "I'm not putting the plates down until you agree to let me help you. So either you step aside and we wash these together, or I'll stand here and hold them while you clean them by yourself. Your choice."</p><p class="p1">"Fine." He moves over one step, purposefully hesitant to mask his relief.</p><p class="p1">"Thank you." Ethari sets the stack of plates back onto the counter and comes up to Runaan's side like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Now, I'll wash and you'll dry?"</p><p class="p1">"We can both wash. The dishes can air dry."</p><p class="p1">"Sounds like a plan."</p><p class="p1">Runaan frowns as Ethari hands him a single plate, keeping the dirty stack on his side.</p><p class="p1">"Just give me all of them," Runaan says, impatiently tilting his chin towards the plates that he can't reach.</p><p class="p1">"And let you get away with doing more work when I'm right here to help you?" Ethari smiles knowingly. "No, moonlight. You can have half."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>questions? comments? concerns? <br/>leave a comment and let me know!</p><p>I based Runaan off of myself a lil bit this time around—I get very stressed when there's menial work (like dishes, laundry, vacuuming, etc) to be done, but it's always a struggle between that and my ADHD. I'll know that I need to do a task and I'll inevitably get distracted, but the whole time there's just this panicked feeling in my chest that won't go away until I get my shit together and just do the thing I need to do. easier said than done, of course! so now if I see a pile of plates or dirty clothes I'll wash them <i>immediately</i> lest I forget, and I need to do that <i>right now</i> or I will forget</p><p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯ </p><p>brains are weird</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. take my jacket, it's cold outside</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some more husband shenanigans! </p><p>I sometimes like to think that Runaan has a flair for the dramatics—I mean, even though he's quite reserved and cool &amp; calculating, I like to think that when he's around his husband he finally gets to vent and let out his frustrations (cause those emotions have to go somewhere, right?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It doesn't get excruciatingly cold in the Silvergrove until the tail end of the year, and by that point most elves have already spent the previous months preparing for the icy winds and snow storms. While some like to spend the season bundled inside with warm fires and as few excursions outside as they can get away with, Ethari <em>thrives</em> in the winter.</p><p class="p1">Perhaps it's because the forge is already warm enough with all the fires and the cold weather outside finally makes it remotely bearable to be inside, or perhaps it's because he gets to pull out his handmade cloaks that he's spent hours embellishing and embroidering—whatever the reason, no matter the reason, Ethari loves the cold.</p><p class="p1">Runaan, on the other hand, does not.</p><p class="p1">He doesn't have anything <em>against</em> the cold, per se, he just prefers any other season. After all, stealth missions are remarkably more difficult when even a slight misstep leads to time wasted trying to cover up a footprint. Not to mention moving around while layered up presents its own hassles, and Runaan has seen too many elves get spotted during training when their sleeves brush along the side of a tree, leaving a clear mark in the snow.</p><p class="p1">"If you wore armor with sleeves year-round, you wouldn't have this problem" is Ethari's comeback anytime Runaan starts to complain about his recruits' mishaps during the winter. And yes, while Ethari does have a point, Runaan doesn't have the time to explain the the sleeveless uniform is tradition and, after all, who is he to disrupt tradition because of a slight irritation?</p><p class="p1">But today, as training wears on, Runaan is starting to consider changing some procedures.</p><p class="p1">"Again," he barks from his perch on a tree branch. He fights down a shiver as a particularly brisk breeze blows shards of ice into his eyes.</p><p class="p1">Below him, a trainee scowls and rubs at her back where she'd landed. A perfect imprint of her body is left behind in the snow, and a clump of twigs and leaves is scattered all around her from where she'd attempted—and failed—to grab onto a branch while jumping between trees.</p><p class="p1">"It's the damn sleeves," he hears her gripe to another trainee. "If it hadn't been there, I would've had a good grip."</p><p class="p1">"If it hadn't been there, you would've lost both you arms and possibly your life to the cold," Runaan says impatiently. "Now enough stalling. <em>Again!</em>"</p><p class="p1">"I'm plenty warm, seeing as how you make me do this over and over!"</p><p class="p1">She gets it by her fourth try, though she looks like she's one "<em>again</em>" way from ripping the fabric by the seams with her own hands.</p><p class="p1">That night, as he sits at the table with Ethari, he recounts the frustrating story.</p><p class="p1">"I know it's not entirely her fault," he says. "But her attitude was unacceptable."</p><p class="p1">"Moonlight, perhaps you're being too harsh on her? She's new, isn't she?"</p><p class="p1">"New, yes, but top of her training class. That's why I recruited her to join my group. She stands down there, complaining about trivial matters when I'm fighting to keep my blood flow circulating to my fingertips"—he emphasizes said fingertips by waving them around in Ethari's face—"and sacrificing all feeling in my toes just so I can keep a close watch on her movements and help her improve."</p><p class="p1">Ethari hums. "Forgive me for asking, but could this at all be related to you being cold?"</p><p class="p1">"No."</p><p class="p1">"Right, of course."</p><p class="p1">Ethari doesn't bring it up again. At least, not for a few days.</p><p class="p1">It's three days later when Runaan and Ethari find themselves in the same situation: Runaan's venting about the disaster that was the most recent training. During a session on hiding and tracking, he'd hidden himself in the forest and tasked his recruits to find him.</p><p class="p1">"Three hours," he groans. "<em>Three hours</em>! That's how long it took for them to notice the <em>first clue</em> I'd left."</p><p class="p1">"There, there," Ethari says sympathetically. He continues to rub Runaan's feet with his hands, the extremities slowly returning back to their normal light purple color. Still felt like ice, though.</p><p class="p1">"By the time they found me I could barely move," Runaan continues. He crosses his arms and throws his head back in exasperation. "Why are they <em>so</em> <em>bad</em>?"</p><p class="p1">"That's why they're training, isn't it? So they can get better?"</p><p class="p1">"I'll probably die of frostbite before any of them 'get better,' Ethari."</p><p class="p1">His husband smiles fondly. "Always so dramatic."</p><p class="p1">"And to make things worse," Runaan continues as if Ethari hadn't said something so patronizing, "I have to go back out there. They wanted to try again, to see if they could find me faster. <em>In the dark</em>."</p><p class="p1">The assassin leader glances out at the pink and orange sky, dreading the moment he has to leave his home—and his husband's warm, agile hands—and sit in another cramped position for hours on end.</p><p class="p1">"You should get going then," Ethari prompts. "Give them a bit of a chance to track you while the sun's still visible."</p><p class="p1">With a sigh, Runaan lifts his feet from his husband's lap and begins to shrug on his armor. When he gets to his long-sleeve jacket, still damp, he hesitates.</p><p class="p1">"Here."</p><p class="p1">He looks up to see Ethari with his arm outstretched, the garment that was on the back of his chair now hanging by the tips of his fingers.</p><p class="p1">"Take my jacket," Ethari says. "It's cold outside."</p><p class="p1">"I know that," Runaan grumbles. He accepts the jacket and runs his fingers over the material, frowning when he doesn't recognize it. "This is yours?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari nods.</p><p class="p1">"I don't ever recall seeing this in our closet." But still, he throws it over his shoulders and immediately jumps, startled, when the jacket tightens around him and a current of heat flows over his torso. "<em>What</em>—"</p><p class="p1">"It's an old design of mine," Ethari explains through breathy laughter. "Figured it'd be better off in your hands than mine. It'll keep you warm enough, and it's powered by the moon so tonight is a great chance to try it out."</p><p class="p1">"Ethari..."</p><p class="p1">Runaan's eyes are soft as he gazes at his beloved. His husband merely smiles knowingly and steers him towards the door.</p><p class="p1">"You can thank me later," he whispers into Runaan's ear. "Now go on, go give those recruits a challenge."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>god, what I wouldn't give to have a jacket like that. I know stores are selling heated jackets but something about melting snow + electronics makes me just a tiny little bit nervous...</p><p>anyway! </p><p>I've been seeing folks posting about Blackout Day on July 7, 2020, where the goal is to show solidarity with Black Lives Matter and not spend any money on that day. I've also seen variations on not spending money July 4-7, but the 7th seems to be the "official" day. From my understanding, not spending any money during that day(s) will show the economic buying power that Black (+ poc + allies) folks have. If you'd like to learn more, the official site is <a href="https://www.blackoutday.org/">www.blackoutday.org/</a> or search "blackout day 2020" to read about it!</p><p>I will be doing my best to not spend money July 4th-7th, but <i>definitely</i> won't be buying anything on the 7th. Hope you can join me and/or spread awareness!</p><p>If you have other info/links/articles on this feel free to pass them along bc I would love to read more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. sorry I'm late</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a continuation of chapter 10: I'm sorry for your loss, in which Ethari loses a competition but wins Runaan's heart (ha)</p><p>tl;dr of chapter 10: Ethari enters a metalworking competition with a bowblade, gets 2nd place, and asks Runaan out to dinner.</p><p>this chapter should make sense on its own though :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Runaan paces back and forth in the darkness.</p><p class="p1">Yes, he recognizes how absurd the situation is—after all, Ethari was the one who'd asked <em>him</em> out to dinner—but he still can't help but worry.</p><p class="p1">"Did I do something wrong?" he mutters to himself, his words disturbing the unsettling stillness.</p><p class="p1">Maybe Ethari had only asked him to dinner because he'd been in a fragile emotional state—Runaan has seen firsthand the uncharacteristic things elves can do when under duress. After all, he <em>had</em> just lost a metalworking competition he'd spent over half a year working on. But no, it would've been nearly impossible to fake the interest in the smith's eyes and having observed him from afar many times, Runaan knows Ethari isn't a very good actor.</p><p class="p1">Maybe Runaan had accidentally brushed him off? He's well aware that when he's focused on a task, he often neglects the things on his peripherals—sometimes that's remembering to eat, other times it's walking past someone without acknowledging their presence. But no, ever since Ethari asked him to dinner Runaan has been exceedingly aware of the smith's whereabouts; just being within earshot of Ethari has his cheeks blushing and his feet stumbling like a newborn deer.</p><p class="p1">Maybe...</p><p class="p1">Runaan sighs.</p><p class="p1">Maybe Ethari saw him drop the bowblade. It'd been an accident—training at such high intensity with a brand new weapon will inevitably result in dropping said weapon, and all things considered, Runaan thought he'd done a decent job. After all, he'd managed to disarm four out of his five opponents before he tripped over the enchanted bowstring. His previous dual swords didn't have a magical string for him to trip over. The weapon, hanging on the wall of his home, now showcases a crack in the handle of his left blade—small enough for any regular elf to look past, but not Runaan, whose palm feels the splinter every time he wields it.</p><p class="p1">Maybe Ethari's so angry that Runaan already broke the weapon that this silent treatment is his way of punishing him.</p><p class="p1">But Ethari isn't that fickle. Runaan's seen him fix the same weapons over and over without complaint, has witnessed his incredible patience when explaining to a customer why they shouldn't try to pry open a locked door with their knife <em>for the sixth time</em>.</p><p class="p1">Runaan's mind is racing to come up with any reason Ethari might use. But even as he thinks, he knows that he couldn't possibly have done something so drastically unforgivable in the past two days that Ethari would simply not show up to their agreed upon date.</p><p class="p1">A glint startles him and he turns to find a sliver of new moonlight reflecting from the mirror hanging on the wall. His eyes trace over his fretful features and he forces himself to relax. With each deep breath, Runaan's shoulders release down towards the ground and his brows slowly lift back up to neutral.</p><p class="p1">"This is ridiculous," he says sternly to his reflection. "Runaan, you can do this."</p><p class="p1">And yes, generally he knows that he <em>can</em> do this. But it's the little things—should he bring flowers? Will Ethari be expecting a gift? Will he be expected to hold Ethari's hand? <em>Will they kiss?</em>—that occupy his mind and push away all rational thought.</p><p class="p1">He hasn't ever courted anyone before.</p><p class="p1">Runaan's emotions oscillate between embarrassment—he'd pulled out his nice clothes for this!—and annoyance—Ethari could've at least written him a note—but mostly he resides in a constant state of irritability.</p><p class="p1">With every passing minute Runaan grows more antsy. The usually unflappable elf fidgets—yes, that's right, <em>fidgets—</em>with the hem of his tunic and, when the fabric begins to wrinkle, moves on to drumming his fingers rapidly on the table.</p><p class="p1">At last, there's one solid knock on the door.</p><p class="p1">Runaan springs to his feet and has to stop himself from sprinting to open it. He takes a moment to compose himself and when he does finally open the door, expression schooled in a neutral mask of pleasant politeness, he's surprised to find no one there. Runaan frowns.</p><p class="p1">"Hello?" he calls, stepping outside.</p><p class="p1">It's then he notices an arrow solidly lodged in his front door.</p><p class="p1">"By the Moon," he mutters with a frown. Who'd be stupid enough to fire an arrow at the home of an assassin?</p><p class="p1">Then he notices a scroll of parchment attached to the shaft. He unfurls it with eager fingers.</p><p class="p1"><em>Dear Runaan</em>, the note says in messily scrawled handwriting, <em>I'm so terribly sorry I'm late. I've had some technical difficulties, hence why this arrow has taken my place at your front door. If you can forgive me, please make your way to the reflecting pool past the training pavilion. </em></p><p class="p1">Runaan's heart skips a beat when he reads the signature: <em>yours, Ethari</em>.</p><p class="p1"><em>Yours, Ethari</em>.</p><p class="p1"><em>Yours</em>.</p><p class="p1">There's a blush on his cheeks and he knows it. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching him, Runaan allows himself a soft smile as he rereads the message. This time, he notices the postscript he'd missed the first time around: <em>p.s., sincerest apologies for the hole in your door. Perhaps, if all goes well, you'll invite me over so I can, among other things, help you fix it?</em></p><p class="p1">He can't help it—his smile widens and he chuckles, shaking his head and folding the parchment neatly into his pocket. He'll have to keep this safe.</p><p class="p1">Runaan sets his gaze in the direction of the reflecting pool where, if he tries, he can almost make out the linear glow of string lights. As he begins to make his way over, Runaan can almost smell the tart scent of moonberry surprise and the aroma of roasted potatoes.</p><p class="p1">Maybe...</p><p class="p1">Maybe tonight won't be so bad, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p><p>thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. can I have this dance?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please accept my humble offering of pre-courting elves, with a sprinkle of super considerate Ethari and hopelessly enamoured Runaan!</p><p>anyway, hope you liked this chapter :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The Autumn Moon Festival is Runaan's favorite holiday. Not that he'd ever tell anyone this; technically, assassins aren't supposed to divulge this kind of information to strangers and anyone other than close contacts.</p><p class="p1">But there's something about seeing the entire Silvergrove come together for something that isn't a ghosting ceremony or some other dramatic gathering that warms the rough edges of Runaan's wary heart. Ever since he was young, the festival was always something to look forward to, a night to forget his responsibilities and duties, a night to celebrate with his fellow elves.</p><p class="p1">He walks through the village now; he wants nothing more than to relax and enjoy the festival but the flickering lanterns in his peripheral vision and the intermittent popping of miniature fireworks prevent him from dropping his guard. Plus, he has somewhere to be, and no matter how enticing the sounds of delight and the smells of the for stalls, he keeps going.</p><p class="p1">Beside him, rows of vendors call out to potential customers—"have you tried my moon cakes? Mine are far better than <em>his</em>"—while children bother their parents for treats. When Runaan witnesses a young elf have a complete meltdown at having dropped her half-eaten moon cake, he huffs a quick laugh and scuttles past.</p><p class="p1">At the center of the Silvergrove is the heart of the festival: multi-colored lanterns float in midair as seemingly infinite lengths of shimmering ribbon intersect in the sky above him. Dressed in their finest, the Moonshadow elves mingle amongst their peers and he overhears snippets of conversation as he passes: "how are your crops this year?" and "did you hear what my son found in the forest last week?" and "d'you know when the band starts, I'm gettin' tired of waitin'?"</p><p class="p1">"Runaan?"</p><p class="p1">He stiffens, turns—an elf steps out from behind a large group and waves enthusiastically at him. Runaan returns a wave when he recognizes her—one of his newest trainees—and tries to hide his impatience when she begins to make her way over to him.</p><p class="p1">"Hi, Runaan. Are you enjoying the festival so far?" She'd been eager to make a good impression on her first day, and he'd learned that her enthusiasm and general pep were core parts of her personality. "Did you try some of my mother's moon cake? She's in that stall over there."</p><p class="p1">"No, I'm afraid not. I have a"—he panics for a second trying to come up with an innocuous term to describe what he's doing—"prior commitment."</p><p class="p1">Her head tilts to the side, puzzled. "On the night of the festival?" she asks skeptically.</p><p class="p1">"Yes." He doesn't owe her an explanation.</p><p class="p1">When Runaan doesn't provide any further explanation, she shrugs and offers him a warm smile. "Okay, then. I'll see you tomorrow at training."</p><p class="p1">He bids her goodbye, and keeps walking, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone else.</p><p class="p1">By the time he arrives, his heart is racing.</p><p class="p1">Runaan surveys the trees around the reflecting pool, eyes searching for those broad shoulders, amber gaze, and familiar smile, but he's alone. His heart slows and he swallows.</p><p class="p1">He settles on the edge of the reflecting pool, legs outstretched and palms resting on the rough surface of the rim, the distant noise of the festival reminding him of what he's forgoing. Runaan stares wistfully toward the glow in the sky from all the lanterns, imagining what he'd be doing if he were at the festival—probably competing in an archery competition and winning the grand prize, though he isn't sure what he'd do with yet another twenty jars of fresh moonberry jam.</p><p class="p1">Other than an occasional glowing insect crosses his vision, his secluded area is completely still. Even the water in the pool behind him doesn't offer more than a quiet murmur, and that's only when Runaan accidentally disturbs the surface first.</p><p class="p1">He hadn't been told why he was to be here, or for what purpose, but whenever Ethari asks anything of him, he'll do his damn best to make sure it happens.</p><p class="p1">Runaan's thoughts turn to Ethari, as they always inevitably do. He hadn't seen him at all today, and he starts to wonder what the smith will be wearing if—no, <em>when</em>, he corrects himself sternly—he shows up. Perhaps the forest green robe, with the embroidered vines and lace leaves enchanted to change color with every step? Or, better yet, the silvery blue ones with sequins charmed to glisten and glow like the stars? Or, best of all, maybe he'll be wearing nothing, so that Runaan can finally get a good look at the muscles and trace a fingertip across his markings—</p><p class="p1">No. <em>No</em>. Runaan clears his throat. He won't go down that path, or at least not right now.</p><p class="p1">He's thinking about less stimulating things—specifically, going over his list of newest trainees—when Ethari finally appears. Runaan doesn't say anything as the smith approaches, instead letting his eyes roam over the newcomer's golden robes, glowing gently in the dark like rays of moonlight.</p><p class="p1">"Hi."</p><p class="p1">"Hello."</p><p class="p1">"Have you been waiting long?"</p><p class="p1">"No," Runaan lies.</p><p class="p1">Ethari hums like he doesn't quite believe him, but says nothing.</p><p class="p1">"What can I do for you, Ethari?"</p><p class="p1">"Well, a number of things. But first, allow me to thank you for coming."</p><p class="p1">Runaan's lips twitch into a surprised smile. "It's my pleasure."</p><p class="p1">"Second," Ethari continues, tearing his gaze away from Runaan. "I wanted to apologize for drawing you away from the festival. I know how much you enjoy it."</p><p class="p1">Runaan swallows—he's never told anyone that he enjoys the festival; Ethari must have figured it out somehow. Runaan knows he's not obvious; knows that he's well-versed in keeping things hidden. Ethari must have really tried to learn this tidbit about him.</p><p class="p1">"Have you asked me here just to thank and apologize to me?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari laughs. "No, no," he assures Runaan. "Third, a request. But first—"</p><p class="p1">"Too many numbers," Runaan tells him.</p><p class="p1">"Ah." Ethari scratches at the back of his neck absently, a light blush darkening his cheeks. "Okay, then. Well, Runaan, listen." He grabs one of Runaan's hands. "I asked you to meet me here because, well, I like you. I can't help but like you—you consume my waking thoughts, my dreams, and everything in between."</p><p class="p1">Runaan can hardly believe his ears—is this not what he's been dreaming of ever since Ethari mended his first sword?</p><p class="p1">"I know you're a private elf, Runaan. I know what your role requires of you, the facades you must maintain in the presence of others. But, and this might be wishful thinking, in case you say yes to my request, I wanted to take advantage of the festival, because everyone will be there, and only we will be here."</p><p class="p1">He pauses, and the sounds of the night rush back into Runaan's skull: the fluttering of insect wings, the distant dance music, the undeniable waves of joy flowing from the festival. Ethari takes a deep breath and all of the background noise fades away again. He looks straight into Runaan's eyes, straight into his soul, and the corner of Ethari's lips tilt upwards.</p><p class="p1">"Can I have this dance?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey! it's been a while. my life has been going nuts recently (in good ways, don't worry) but that means I have less time and motivation to write. but don't worry, I still plan on finishing all 100 of these prompts! slow and steady wins the race, right?</p><p>tbh I kinda got stuck on this chapter because I wasn't sure where I wanted it to go, or how "can I have this dance" could be interpreted as "I love you." eventually I came around to this idea—Ethari, ever so considerate, knows that Runaan can't publically show his feelings or outwardly show that he enjoys the festival, so by asking him to dance in a secluded area means that Runaan can actually reciprocate and enjoy himself!! :') </p><p>we stan one (1) considerate elf :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. I made your favorite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's always been interesting to me how people's demeanors change when they have a fever, so please accept this married ruthari fic. how Runaan got sick is up to your discretion :) but don't worry, we can all assume he recovers quickly!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ethari can hear his husband thumping around in their bedroom upstairs. Judging by the volume, rate, and frequency of his steps, Runaan must be <em>really </em>annoyed.</p><p class="p1">With a shake of his head and a quirk of his lips, Ethari finishes organizing the tray before him—a plate of roasted vegetables, a mug of steaming hot tea, and a bowl of homemade moonberry surprise.</p><p class="p1">At the top of the stairs, Ethari waits for a brief pause between Runaan's pacing before knocking on the door.</p><p class="p1">"Enter," comes Runaan's monotonous voice through the wood.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan, you really shouldn't—oh, dear."</p><p class="p1">"Don't tell me what to do," Runaan insists stubbornly, standing in the middle of their bedroom with clothes strewn around the furniture and drawers pulled half open. The window is wide open, a crisp late-autumn breeze snaking its way inside, but Runaan isn't even wearing a shirt—his face and chest are flushed red like he's training in the middle of a bright summer day.</p><p class="p1">Ethari places the tray down softly on their bedside table. "Moonlight," he says gently. "You really should be resting."</p><p class="p1">"I was."</p><p class="p1">"You were not. I could hear you from downstairs."</p><p class="p1">Runaan crosses his arms petulantly. "I'm fine."</p><p class="p1">"You are not." Ethari gives him a pointed look. "You're still running a fever."</p><p class="p1">"It's almost gone—"</p><p class="p1">"No, it's not. Get in bed."</p><p class="p1">"<em>Oh</em>? Is it that time of—"</p><p class="p1">"<em>No</em>," Ethari says, more forcefully in an attempt to get his stubborn husband to listen, but also to suppress the smile that wants to curl his lips.</p><p class="p1">Runaan pouts. "You're no fun," he informs Ethari before falling dramatically onto the bed.</p><p class="p1">"Say that again to me once you're feeling better," Ethari tells him. He walks around the room, closing all the windows, before draping a blanket over Runaan's bare chest. Sitting on the bed beside him, Ethari begins to stroke his long hair—it's damp and sweaty, but he doesn't mind. Not when Runaan immediately relaxes against his nails and closes his eyes.</p><p class="p1">A few minutes later, Ethari figures it's safe to try again.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan, sit up, please."</p><p class="p1">He's only slightly surprised when it works—with a grunt, Runaan heaves himself upright, leaning against the wall.</p><p class="p1">"Come here, moonlight. You need to eat something."</p><p class="p1">"I'm not hungry—"</p><p class="p1">"I made your favorite," Ethari sings.</p><p class="p1">One turquoise eye slowly opens, peering curiously at the spoon that's floating in front of his face. "You made this?" Runaan asks suspiciously.</p><p class="p1">"Of course."</p><p class="p1">"When?"</p><p class="p1">"Just now. C'mon, Runaan, please."</p><p class="p1">His husband regards him for one more tense moment, before obediently opening his mouth.</p><p class="p1">"There we go," Ethari murmurs, making sure Runaan has taken everything off the spoon before removing the utensil and dipping it into the bowl again. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan merely grunts.</p><p class="p1">"Second spoonful. Open up."</p><p class="p1">By the fifth spoonful, Runaan's eyes are struggling to stay open and his chewing slows until he's barely moving his jaw. Unable to stop a fond smile, Ethari wipes the corners of his mouth and places the leftover food back on the tray. It's easy to move a drowsy Runaan around, so he tucks his husband into bed and kisses his forehead—now burning at a low-grade fever.</p><p class="p1">"Good night, moonlight. I'll see you tomorrow."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you haven't seen it yet, The Old Guard (netflix) has two characters who have such strong Runaan &amp; Ethari vibes 😭 I watched the movie last week and I've been thinking about them nonstop—to the point where I've started writing about them 😂 </p><p>what can I say, I have a type ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. it's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I like to think that when Runaan and Ethari were young (like, their teenage years) they got into all kinds of shenanigans, living the kind of exciting life you only see in romcoms and stuff. </p><p>anyway this one is short and sweet, some pre-courting but definitely crushing ruthari :') </p><p>ALSO, WE GOT THE <i>WHOLE SAGA</i>. AHHHHHH!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">"Psst!"</p><p class="p1">In his sleep, Runaan frowns.</p><p class="p1">"Psst, Runaan!"</p><p class="p1">His eyes fly open. It takes him a second to remember where he is—his bedroom—and what's woken him up—a familiar shadow outside his window, who knocks again with urgency.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan? Are you awake?"</p><p class="p1">"Yes," he answers, voice hoarse. Runaan clears his throat with a sharp cough and steps to the window. "Can I help you, Ethari?"</p><p class="p1">The elf outside is balanced precariously on the ledge. How he got up there (and how he continues to get up there) is a question that remains unanswered, mostly because Runaan is too afraid to ask. He extends a hand and Ethari takes it gladly, tumbling into the room with all the grace of a newborn deer.</p><p class="p1">"Did I wake you?" Ethari asks, once he's back on his feet.</p><p class="p1">"No," Runaan lies.</p><p class="p1">Ethari eyes the rumpled blankets on his bed, but doesn't comment. Instead, he drags Runaan to the now open window and points up at the moonless night. "Look!"</p><p class="p1">Runaan looks. What he sees are thousands upon thousands of stars, sprinkled through the dark sky like powdered sugar. There's no moon—a shame, really—and it seems like the stars are jumping at the opportunity to flash brighter than ever before. It's beautiful and awesome, but Runaan has seem plenty of moonless, star-filled nights before. He turns to the elf beside him, puzzled. "What am I supposed to see?"</p><p class="p1">"Just wait," Ethari tells him. "Keep your eyes open."</p><p class="p1">A hard task, seeing as Runaan was just abruptly taken away from his sleep, but he tries.</p><p class="p1">In the stillness that comes with the wee hours of the morning, it seems like the entire world is asleep. Even the croaking of the frogs and the chirping of the bugs have quieted down, until all that's left are two elves standing side by side peering out of a second story window. Runaan is acutely aware that Ethari's right next to him, can almost feel the heat and enthusiasm radiating from his body and soul.</p><p class="p1">His companion's eager face is tilted towards the stars, eyes wide in search of something they cannot yet see. He's captivating, and it's all Runaan can do to tear his eyes away from him when Ethari gasps and grabs his arm, pointing excitedly.</p><p class="p1">"What—<em>oh</em>."</p><p class="p1">Where the stillness once was, a hundred flecks of light start shooting across the sky—hues of bright yellow and vivid pink and electric blue, with streaks of white as their tails decorate the darkness. The comets come and go as they please, fading in and out of sight as they blaze past.</p><p class="p1">"Wow," Ethari breathes. "They're stunning."</p><p class="p1"><em>Yes,</em> Runaan thinks, <em>you are</em>.</p><p class="p1">When the last of the comets fade for the last time, Ethari turns to him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry for waking you," he says sheepishly. "You're usually the only elf awake at this hour, so I thought I'd come find you to watch the comets together."</p><p class="p1">"I'll be all right."</p><p class="p1">"Okay. Well, still, I'm sorry."</p><p class="p1">"No, truly. It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway." Runaan leans against the window frame and sighs, glancing out to where the stillness has settled over the Silvergrove again like a thick woolen blanket. He turns and smiles at Ethari, whose cheeks darken immediately. "Thank you for thinking of me."</p><p class="p1">"Hard not to," Ethari mumbles, and smiles tenderly back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>where I live, I got to see the comet (whose name escapes me) a couple days ago, and I think Ethari would be very into that kind of activity.</p><p>ps—<br/>ThE wHoLe SaGa!!! I'm so excited. I hope we get to see more of Runaan and Ethari :')</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. watch your step</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>whoops it's been 16 days since I last updated! most of my spare time has been taken up by my monstrous novel, which I'm finally getting around to editing. side note—since I actually wrote the first draft 9 months ago, I've realized that I really don't like writing in the past tense, and much prefer present tense. so I'm embarking on a journey of translating my 70k+ word novel all to present tense LOL pray for me</p><p>anyway please accept doting Ethari and post-injury Runaan!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ethari waits nervously outside the door, where the healer had deposited him seventeen minutes earlier for being "too anxiety-inducing"—her words, not his.</p><p class="p1">His fingers haven't stopped moving since he got here, scratching idly at nothing in particular and fidgeting with anything he can get his hands on. Currently, he's absentmindedly folding a strip of bark into a zigzag. The rough texture helps, actually; keeps him grounded as his fingers slide along the strip.</p><p class="p1">Beside him is the crutch that he's already made—he'd always known he would have to use it, but he'd always hoped the day would never come. Foolish and naive, he was. But at least his heart will be using a crutch made by someone who loves him, instead of the general one the healers hand out. Those—Ethari shudders at the mere thought—are always covered with mysterious, unidentifiable stains and always left splinters everywhere. No, Runaan wouldn't have to use one of those, not if Ethari had anything to say about it.</p><p class="p1">At last, Ethari hears footsteps nearing the door. He jumps to his feet just as the door swings open and the healer steps out.</p><p class="p1">"How is he?" Ethari asks immediately.</p><p class="p1">The healer holds out her hands placatingly. "Not to worry, Ethari. Runaan is recovering just fine. We finished setting the bone, and he should be able to head home in a few minutes."</p><p class="p1">"Can I see him?"</p><p class="p1">"Of course."</p><p class="p1">The inside of the room is dark. He picks up faint smells of sweat and hints of metallic blood, along with the strong aroma of medicinal herbs and ingredients for potions and enchantments. It's something he hopes he'll never have to smell again, though he knows he'll probably become very familiar with it by the time Runaan retires.</p><p class="p1">Runaan is lying on a cot with only a thin sheet covering his lower body. Now that the mud and grime have been cleaned off, Runaan's torso reveals a dozen scars, cuts, and bruises. Ethari can't help but wince as he approaches—to put it bluntly, his husband looks <em>awful</em>.</p><p class="p1">"Runaan?"</p><p class="p1">The elf stirs. Eyelids blink once, then slowly open to reveal bright turquoise eyes. Runaan smiles tenderly when he recognizes Ethari, and struggles to raise an arm. "Hello, moonlight."</p><p class="p1">"Moon above," Ethari chokes, suddenly overcome by the urge to cry. He settles on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Runaan's battle-beaten body. "I, I—"</p><p class="p1">"So terribly sorry to worry you. Missions don't usually end up like this."</p><p class="p1">"I can see that," Ethari manages with a watery smile. "Usually you come home on your own two feet."</p><p class="p1">At that, Runaan frowns. "My leg—?"</p><p class="p1">"She says the bone is properly set," Ethari tells him. "It'll just be a while before you can run or jump on it again."</p><p class="p1">Runaan sighs and closes his eyes. "I don't have time for <em>a while</em>."</p><p class="p1">"Listen. I know you have much to do, but"—he grabs Runaan's less-injured hand and holds it gently—"Runaan, if you don't let this heal properly then it's going to impact your ability to move for the rest of your life. I won't let that happen, I swear to the Moon and back, because if you so much as get hurt because you didn't let this heal, I'll never forgive myself. Do you understand me?"</p><p class="p1">There's a look in Runaan's eyes when he whispers, "I understand."</p><p class="p1">"Promise me, right now, you'll take all the time required to heal?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan swallows. "I promise."</p><p class="p1">"Thank you." Ethari presses a chaste kiss to his husband's chapped lips.</p><p class="p1">It's another thirty minutes or so before Runaan's leg is sturdy enough to hold a little bit of weight, and another fifteen minutes after that before the healer lets them leave. With the new crutch under one arm and Ethari under the other, Runaan hobbles to his feet and out of the healer's hut.</p><p class="p1">As soon as he's outside, Runaan takes a deep inhale and sighs happily. "It was foul in there," he says, and Ethari can't help but agree.</p><p class="p1">Turns out walking on a barely-healed leg is slow progress, but Ethari doesn't mind. He's got his husband by his side and he'll be there as long as it takes. As they take yet another break, with Runaan resting on a tree stump, he knows better to offer to carry him—Runaan would probably indignantly insist on walking by himself if he so much as uttered anything related to "carry you" or "allow me to."</p><p class="p1">Slow progress is still progress, and soon the entrance to their home is in sight. As they approach, Runaan looks up and groans.</p><p class="p1">"Remind me why we put our home so high up?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari glances at the stone steps leading to their front door and chuckles. "I like to think it's one big joke from the universe."</p><p class="p1">Runaan rolls his eyes and together, they carefully make their way up the stairs. The walkway is barely wide enough for Ethari's broad shoulders when he's by himself—add in Runaan and a crutch, and it's almost perilous enough for Ethari to simply pick Runaan up and whisk him up the last few steps—it's not like anyone's watching, anyway—but they manage. It's practically a miracle that they make it, and soon it's just the half-step before the door remaining in their path.</p><p class="p1">Ethari leans Runaan against the wall and diverts his gaze to reach for the key.</p><p class="p1">"Watch your step—"</p><p class="p1">Ethari pauses mid-step and gives him a look. "I know how to get into my own home, thank you very much," he says, and Runaan blushes and shuts his mouth. "Plus, I should be saying that to <em>you</em>. Now hush, and get inside, please."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading!! </p><p>as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated :) </p><p>have a good day/evening/time!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. here, drink this. it'll make you feel better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>heeeey it's been a while! </p><p>if you're still reading these new chapters, hello and thank you for sticking around! it really means a lot to me :') I can't promise any regular updates but I'm gonna try to stick with one chapter every two weeks or so!! no guarantees tho ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>featuring: hangovers and a brief mention of domestic chores</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Runaan throws open the curtain with a dramatic flourish and is greeted with a shriek, so shrill and unexpected that he nearly drops the cup he's carrying. Before he actually can, he slides the cup and saucer onto their dresser and approaches the bed, from where the yelp had emerged.</p><p class="p3">"Well, good morning to you to," he says, and Ethari pokes his head up, squinting, and pouts.</p><p class="p3">"Never again."</p><p class="p3">"Remind me, isn't that what you said last time?"</p><p class="p3">Ethari groans. "Too loud," he mutters, grabbing a nearby pillow and slamming it over his head. "Ow."</p><p class="p3">"This is a normal volume," Runaan tells him. When Ethari merely grunts in response, he sighs and sits back down on the bed. "I won't say 'I told you so.'"</p><p class="p3">"You just did," comes Ethari's muffled voice, and Runaan's lips curve upwards involuntarily.</p><p class="p3">"I guess I just did. How about this—I won't rub salt into your wound, hm?"</p><p class="p3">Ethari grumbles again—something that sounds suspiciously like "then stop yelling"—but Runaan pretends not to hear him.</p><p class="p3">"Come on," he says, patting Ethari's thigh, which twitches and retracts beneath the sheets quicker than a flash of lightning. "Time to get up."</p><p class="p3">"Nuh uh."</p><p class="p3">"Ethari."</p><p class="p3">One amber eye peeks out from underneath the cocoon of blankets—and Runaan has to hold back a laugh because Ethari looks oh so miserable—and the hungover elf whines, "leave me alone," stretching out the last syllable as it turns into a yawn.</p><p class="p3">"It's not my fault you decided to stay up all night with Tiadrin and a bottle of wine," Runaan chides gently. "I <em>did</em> remind you that we have to fix the roof today, before rainy season comes."</p><p class="p3">"Your mistake," comes a muffled voice from where Ethari has burrowed back into the blankets, "was telling me that <em>after</em> I'd already had half the bottle."</p><p class="p3">Runaan rolls his eyes. He says nothing, but continues to outline invisible circles on Ethari's knee, the only part of his body that sticks out of the blankets.</p><p class="p3">"Do we have to do it today?"</p><p class="p3">Something in Runaan's chest flutters to life. Ethari's voice is so small and innocent that he can't help but melt; seeing his broad-shouldered and muscular husband curled up in bed is doing <em>something</em> to him. He can't quite name it—and no, it's not that he likes seeing Ethari helpless and in pain; rather, it's that this is a different version of the usually happy-go-lucky, nothing-can-bring-me-down Ethari.</p><p class="p3">His husband isn't perfect, and Runaan wouldn't have it any other way.</p><p class="p3">"We don't have to," Runaan says after a beat. "But we probably should. Today's the last day both of us have the time to patch up the leak."</p><p class="p3">Ethari lets out an unrecognizable noise—something sort of like "<em>blaarghft</em>"—and makes a half-hearted attempt to untangle himself; he flails, fails, and gives up immediately, sinking bonelessly into the soft wool.</p><p class="p3">Runaan huffs, amused. "C'mon, sit up. Here"—he reaches over and thrusts the cup into Ethari's hand—"drink this. It'll make you feel better."</p><p class="p3">Ethari sips dutifully at the broth while Runaan goes about tidying up the bedroom, picking up stray socks and hanging up the clothes that drunk Ethari had discarded on the floor last night.</p><p class="p3">The gentle <em>clink</em> of pottery draws his attention, and he looks up to see Ethari placing the cup back in its saucer. Ethari's complexion are brighter now, and despite the dark bags beneath his eyes, he looks alert. Well, <em>more</em> alert. Relatively.</p><p class="p3">"Shall we try this again?" Runaan teases, sliding onto the bed and settling between Ethari's legs. "Good morning, Ethari."</p><p class="p3">"Shut it," comes Ethari's response, but he undermines any heat in his words with a tender kiss.</p><p class="p3">"Don't worry about the roof," Runaan says when they break apart. He runs a hand through Ethari's hair, fingers catching on all sorts of knots. "I can handle it."</p><p class="p3">Ethari chuckles, and maybe he's just dehydrated or it's the remnants of the moonberry wine, but the sound is hoarse and a delighted tingle runs over Runaan's skin. "I'd feel much better if I were out there helping you," Ethari admits. "You're a skilled swordsman, Runaan, but perhaps you should leave the hammering to me. Can't we wait until tomorrow?"</p><p class="p3">"You're still hungover," Runaan points out with a frown. "I'm sure I can do handiwork at least as well as you in this very moment."</p><p class="p3">"On the contrary. Being hungover often leads to some very creative and ingenious solutions that a sober mind wouldn't dare dream of."</p><p class="p3">"Oh?" Runaan scoots off the bed and crosses his arm, a victorious smirk hanging on his lips. "In that case, I'll see you outside in ten minutes, O' Creative and Ingenious one. Let's see what sort of masterpiece you come up with this time."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. can I hold your hand?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HELLO I AM ALIVE!</p><p>it's been a while since my last update (oops) but hello, I'm back! at least for this chapter.</p><p>I'm participating in nanowrimo (national novel writing month; goal is 50k words during the month of november) so I am quite busy writing other things! but I was so inspired ("inspired") by a scene i wrote for my novel that I went ahead and wrote this next chapter here 😂  anyway long story short—thanks for sticking with me so far! no guarantees on when the next update will be but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ see ya on the flip side!</p><p>introducing smooth ethari and pining runaan, and a pick up line :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Runaan finds himself in a particularly generous mood, and lets the trainees out early for the day. Well, <em>early</em> is relative—at least they'll have a few minutes left with light before the sun fully sets over the treetops.</p><p class="p1">As the young elves scramble to gather their things before their leader can change his mind, he packs up his own gear and nods at them as they sprint out the door of the training pavilion, echos of "bye! Thank you! See you tomorrow!" resonating in the now empty room.</p><p class="p1">He sighs deeply and hoists his belongings onto his back, grunting softly when a sharp edge juts into his spine.</p><p class="p1">Outside, the village is quiet with only a few elves standing around and chatting in the crisp evening air. His feet barely make a sound as Runaan weaves his way through the center of the Silvergrove, towards where he knows his dinner and his bed await him. At the thought of a warm bowl of soup, his pace quickens.</p><p class="p1">As he's passing the smithy, he instinctively looks up and is only a little disappointed not to see a pair of broad shoulders in the window. Runaan shakes his head and continues on, because of course Ethari wouldn't be there; it's way too late to be—</p><p class="p1">"Runaan?"</p><p class="p1">His heart skips a beat as he turns to greet the elf emerging from behind the smithy. "Hello, Ethari."</p><p class="p1">"Oh good, that <em>is</em> you," Ethari says, walking towards him with a relieved smile. "I can't imagine how embarrassing it would be to have mistaken someone else for you."</p><p class="p1">"Well." Runaan clears his throat. "In case you do find someone pretending to be me, you should know it's a crime to impersonate an assassin, and you should report them."</p><p class="p1">"Will do," Ethari says with a mock salute. "Though I doubt anyone would dare try to be you. No one could possibly carry themselves the way you do."</p><p class="p1">"Oh?"</p><p class="p1">"I mean, yeah. You're always incredibly graceful and elegant, aren't you?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan ignores the pleased blush that threatens to blossom on his cheeks. "Any assassin should be able to carry themselves with poise and control," he says casually.</p><p class="p1">"Sure, sure. And any craftsman should be able to put away his own supplies"—Ethari sends a good-natured glare upwards at the smithy—"and yet here I am, cleaning up after everyone."</p><p class="p1">He looks and sounds so much like a nurturing parent that Runaan's heart melts a little bit. "Perhaps if you didn't do it for them, they'd learn their lesson?" Runaan suggests, following Ethari through the door into the forge.</p><p class="p1">Ethari laughs, the sound echoing in the dimly lit stairwell. "Believe me, I've tried. They're a mess, the lot of them. It just gets worse and worse until someone hurts themself and then someone else—usually me—deals with it."</p><p class="p1">"Hm."</p><p class="p1">The conversation flows smoothly as Ethari dashes around the smithy, picking up the last scraps and shards from deserted workbenches. Ethari asks about his day, and Runaan tells him about the newest updates with this batch of trainees—one of them managed to disarm three opponents in one smooth combination. When asked about his day, Ethari sighs and chatters on about the newest project he's working on and how it's not working out the way he wants it to. Runaan is merely happy to be in his presence, listening to his thoughts flow like water in a rapid river.</p><p class="p1">The smith is on his third tangent of the night—"Runaan, have you ever wondered where black smoke disappears to when it goes into the sky?"—when he pauses and regards Runaan with thoughtful eyes. "Don't you have other places to be?" Ethari asks, haphazardly tossing a razor sharp sheet of metal onto the growing pile in his arms. "I don't mean to keep you here—"</p><p class="p1">"Oh, no," Runaan interrupts. "I don't mind. I let the trainees out early today so I've got some extra time."</p><p class="p1">Ethari has the audacity to laugh, motioning for Runaan to follow him back down the steps with a tilt of his horns. His hands are too full to move without knocking over an entire evening's worth of gathered garbage. "Wow. So generous of you to spend your moments of leisure watching me pick up scraps."</p><p class="p1">"I am not—"</p><p class="p1">"I'm kiddin' of course," Ethari continues without missing a beat. "Happy to have your company, as always."</p><p class="p1">They're back out in the open air of the Silvergrove, and heading towards the denser woods on the outskirts of the village. Ethari leads the way, though Runaan's not quite sure how the elf can see over the towering stack of dangerous looking trash in his arms.</p><p class="p1">When the other elf nearly impales his eye on a skewer after stumbling over a tree root, Runaan can't take it anymore. "Ethari?"</p><p class="p1">"Hm?"</p><p class="p1">"Can I...help you hold something?"</p><p class="p1">There's a brief pause as Ethari stops, adjusts the stuff in his arms, and peers at Runaan curiously. "Sorry?"</p><p class="p1">"You look like you have both hands full," Runaan says awkwardly—shyly?—and gestures at Ethari's occupied limbs. "And I have two free arms right here, so..."</p><p class="p1">Ethari's eyes brighten. "Oh! Actually, yes, that would be very helpful, thank you." He shifts the precariously balanced pile onto one arm—Runaan stops himself from lunging forward to catch anything—and holds out his now empty hand. "Could you hold this, please?"</p><p class="p1">Runaan blinks.</p><p class="p1">Ethari wiggles his fingers enticingly.</p><p class="p1">"You're asking if I can hold your <em>hand</em>."</p><p class="p1">"It would be <em>extremely</em> helpful," Ethari says innocently. He bats his eyelashes and Runaan has to bite his tongue not to laugh. "Really, it would be."</p><p class="p1">"I—"</p><p class="p1">"<em>Please?</em>"</p><p class="p1">And who is Runaan to deny him?</p><p class="p1">"All right," he says begrudgingly, hoping the setting sun will hide his blush. He's about to slot his fingers between Ethari's—Moon above, now he can finally find out just how calloused his palms are—when an ominous creaking noise coming from Ethari's other hand makes him hesitate.</p><p class="p1">Ethari eyes the short distance between their hands. "Runaan?"</p><p class="p1">"How about this," Runaan suggests. "I'll make you a deal. You let me take half the pile of junk now, before you hurt yourself, and I'll hold your hand once we properly dispose of all that."</p><p class="p1">Ethari purses his lips and chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "I'll accept your offer, but only if you walk me home."</p><p class="p1">Runaan sighs, rolls his eyes, and grins. "Deal."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. you can borrow mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello, happy december!!</p><p>I've currently got 2 candles going and some cozy fireplace noises and some smooth instrumental music! I am thriving! It's supposed to snow tomorrow and today was extremely chilly, and somehow this chapter wrote itself. </p><p>In case anyone is wondering, I did write (exactly 50k) words for nanowrimo :)</p><p>anyway enjoy!! thanks for sticking with me this far</p><p>included in this chapter: pre-courting elves and a camping trip</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Before every elf grows up into an adult, there's something in which each must partake— a camping excursion. It's an activity that all young adult elves are supposed to do. It's practically tradition to go into the woods with nothing but a small knapsack, a group of your peers, and a vague plan of what to do when something inevitably goes wrong.</p><p class="p1">For Ethari, something went wrong before they even got to the camp site.</p><p class="p1">They're trudging along a craggy mountain path, chatting and laughing like they aren't a few inches from tumbling off the cliff and a few hundred yards from the ground. Ethari is walking next to Tiadrin, and when she mentions something about the cooling weather, a metaphorical flash of lightning strikes him.</p><p class="p1">"Oh no," he says sharply, stopping in his tracks.</p><p class="p1">Ahead of him, Lain and Runaan pause and turn around. "Ethari?" The latter asks, frowning. "What's wrong?"</p><p class="p1">"Ah, nothing, nothing," Ethari blusters. He keeps insisting everything is fine until the two elves ahead turn back around before grabbing Tiadrin's wrist and hissing, "<em>everything is not fine</em>!"</p><p class="p1">Tiadrin wrestles her wrist out of his grasp. "Moon above, Ethari. What's gotten into you?"</p><p class="p1">"I don't think—oh dear, I don't have—" He swings his pack from his shoulders onto the ground with a dull <em>thud</em> and begins frantically rummaging through it. "I could have sworn—"</p><p class="p1">"Did you leave something behind?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari's fingers wiggle their way to the bottom of the pack and he lets out a pained groan. "I did," he bemoans. "Tiadrin, I left my raincoat back in the forge."</p><p class="p1">"Ach," is the only consolation she can offer. They both stare at the peak of the mountain—their designated campsite for the night—and grimace at the gray clouds that swirl ominously around it.</p><p class="p1">"Well," Ethari sighs. "I suppose I'll just be very clean by tomorrow morning."</p><p class="p1">"Don't be ridiculous," Tiadrin snaps. She helps him stuff everything back into his pack. "You can share mine."</p><p class="p1">"Yours is barely big enough to cover you, let alone me. Or do you forget that I'm just a tad bigger than you?"</p><p class="p1">Tiadrin punches him in the shoulder. "Bigger, sure. But don't forget I can beat you up whenever."</p><p class="p1">"I would never," he solemnly swears.</p><p class="p1">No one brings up his little mishap, and by the time they finally arrive at the mountain peak, it seems as if everyone has forgotten about it.</p><p class="p1">Everyone, that is, except for Ethari. He keeps glancing at the gray clouds above, fretting and nervously wringing his hands. It's not that he's afraid of the rain—he really isn't, not since he was three years old—but the thought of having to spend the night soggy and shivering...the mere thought of his damp wool clothes clinging to his body is enough to send tremors down his body.</p><p class="p1">But it's his own fault, and he should've thought ahead, so he doesn't bring it up as they set up camp. Ethari doesn't say anything as he aids Tiadrin in wrestling her canvas tent out of its case, and he doesn't utter a word about his lack of rain gear as he helps Lain forage for dinner. He <em>definitely </em>doesn't complain as he and Runaan hike into the deeper woods and bring back dried branches for the fire.</p><p class="p1">The Moon must be shining down on him tonight from above the gloomy blanket in the sky, because it isn't until after dinner—fire-roasted chestnuts, various wild berries, and some moonberry juice that Tiadrin snuck in her pack—that the first signs of drizzle make their appearance.</p><p class="p1">They're sitting around the crackling fire, joking at Lain's expense as Tiadrin and Runaan take turns sharing various mishaps the elf had during training.</p><p class="p1">"It wasn't my fault," Lain is arguing but the heat in his words is drowned out by his laughter. "It wasn't <em>my</em> fault my shield got caught in the crack—oh!" He blinks and rubs at his eye. "There it is. I was wondering when the rain was going to show up."</p><p class="p1">Immediately, Ethari feels Tiadrin's eyes on him. He shakes his head quickly and she glares at him for a minute before turning away. She doesn't have to say anything for Ethari to understand—<em>you'll get yourself sick, and I refuse to clean up after you</em>.</p><p class="p1">Fair enough.</p><p class="p1">As the other three elves scramble to dig out their rain gear, Ethari sits as motionlessly as he can, hoping and praying to the Moon that no one notices and makes fun of him. Well, rather: he hopes and prays that Runaan and Lain don't notice him, and he hopes and prays that Tiadrin won't make fun of him (that much). As a last resort, he scoots himself as close as he can to a rocky overhang, where the rocks offer some semblance of waterproof shelter.</p><p class="p1">Sadly, his plan to remain undetected fails as soon as the first elf returns to the fireside.</p><p class="p1">"Ethari?"</p><p class="p1">He curses under his breath. Of <em>course</em> it's Runaan who notices he's gone. Before he even has a chance to hide, Ethari finds himself face to face with Runaan, who's holding a large blanket looking object.</p><p class="p1">"What are you doing? Where's your rain coat?"</p><p class="p1">"Um," he says intelligently with an embarrassed chuckle. "Funny story, Runaan."</p><p class="p1">The assassin doesn't look convinced. "Did you forget it back in the forge?"</p><p class="p1">"Er—"</p><p class="p1">Runaan sighs. "I'll take that as a yes. Is this why you panicked on the way up?"</p><p class="p1">"It's not a big deal," Ethari lies. "I don't mind getting wet."</p><p class="p1">It's a bold statement, and neither party seems to believe it. "Right," Runaan says flatly. "You don't mind getting wet, which is why you're trying to hide under a rock."</p><p class="p1">"It's warm," Ethari sputters, realizing too late that his defense doesn't even make sense. "I mean, okay, it's not that warm. But it kind of is!"</p><p class="p1">"Stop being ridiculous. You're not planning on staying here all night, are you?"</p><p class="p1">Ethari glances at his own canvas tent. "Well—"</p><p class="p1">"Enough of that." Runaan extends a hand, waving it impatiently in Ethari's face when he hesitates. "Come on."</p><p class="p1">Runaan's hand is surprisingly warm, if not a little damp from the steadily increasing rain. "Where are we going?"</p><p class="p1">"Back to the fire," Runaan replies without looking at him. He doesn't separate their hands, though. "It's no fun if you aren't there, too."</p><p class="p1">"Really sweet of you," Ethari says with a grin. "But truth be told, I don't quite like getting wet—" Runaan gestures to one of the logs and Ethari obediently sits, his words stuck in his throat when Runaan settles right beside him. "What are you—"</p><p class="p1">"Ethari, I'm well aware that you don't like getting wet. Figured that out when you panicked about not bringing your rain gear." With a smooth flick of his wrist, Runaan unfurls the rain blanket, and with a grand sweep of his arms manages to fling it across both of them. "That's why you can borrow mine."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. you might like this</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>an update?? SO SOON???</p><p>happy thursday, I'm taking out my frustrations at work by writing soft (and chaotic) ruthari :')</p><p>featuring first dates, spicy foods, and win-win situations</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Have first dates always been this nerve wracking?</p><p class="p1">It's hard to say. Runaan's only ever tried to court one other elf, and no one dares mention his name anymore unless they are looking for a fight. But now, as he examines his reflection in his mirror, Runaan can't help but feel...</p><p class="p1">"I am <em>not</em> nervous," Runaan tells himself sternly.</p><p class="p1">His reflection doesn't seem impressed.</p><p class="p1">Instead of debating with himself, Runaan decides to spend his remaining minutes outside of his home. Perhaps fresh air will be better for him than staying indoors, where his reflection seems to mock him every time he looks up in the mirror. Runaan sends one last intimidating growl at his reflection before slamming his front door shut.</p><p class="p1">Immediately he feels better. There's something about the familiarity of the trees and the well worn stones that make up the steps leading up to his treetop home, and he feels somewhat comforted, even if the moon moths in his stomach refuse to settle down.</p><p class="p1">By the time he reaches the forrest floor, Runaan comes to the conclusion that it's just dinner, and if it doesn't work out he'll simply never speak to or of Ethari ever again. Simple as that.</p><p class="p1">Except it isn't that simple, because the blacksmith dances through his head at every turn; every elf who approaches him only serves to disappoint when he looks up and doesn't find warm amber eyes; Runaan would never admit it out loud, but never speaking to Ethari ever again would probably break him, and never speaking of him is an impossibility.</p><p class="p1">So maybe it's not <em>simple as that</em>, but whatever. Runaan rolls his shoulders and brushes his hair behind his back. He's survived worse.</p><p class="p1">He meets Ethari in the center of the Silvergrove, and only manages a painfully formal "hello, Ethari," because his words have dissolved in his mouth at the sight of the elf. Moon above, he knows—he has known—that Ethari is a handsome elf, but seeing him out of his typical clothes and cleaned up is breathtaking. Thankfully Ethari doesn't seem to notice, and has no problem filling up the silence with a flowing stream of thoughts.</p><p class="p1">The walk to the restaurant isn't far, and ordering is easy seeing as they only really serve a few items. There's something special in simplicity, and Runaan doesn't mind. He knows Ethari has a hard time making decisions like choosing a meal, so it works out. A win-win situation. He orders something he knows he'll like, while Ethari dares to venture outside of his comfort zone.</p><p class="p1">"I thought you didn't like spicy food," Runaan comments as they gravitate towards an empty table.</p><p class="p1">"Feelin' a bit adventurous tonight," Ethari replies with a cheeky grin. "New place, new food. You never know."</p><p class="p1">They blast through unimportant topics like the weather and the recent harvest and move onto to more interesting discussions—"Runaan, have I told you about this new sword I was working on?" and "you should've seen the new trainees, Ethari, they're abysmal"—and by the time their food arrives, they're laughing over one of Ethari's anecdotes from within the forge.</p><p class="p1">Runaan waits until both their dishes are on the table before gingerly picking up a fork and poking at the food. Satisfied that no one has tried to poison him, he takes a small bite.</p><p class="p1">"Oh," he says, surprised. "That's quite good."</p><p class="p1">"Yeah?" Ethari says distractedly. He's poking at his food with a fork too, but Runaan has a sneaking suspicion it isn't because he's looking for traces of poison. "That's good."</p><p class="p1">Runaan hums and watches with amusement as the elf before him prods at the food, where specks of vibrant red peppers are clearly visible and deeply entrenched in the sauce. When Ethari finally breaks out of his trance and looks up, Runaan is stifling laughs at his expense.</p><p class="p1">"Regretting anything?" Runaan teases.</p><p class="p1">Ethari crosses his arms—oh, hello<em> biceps</em>—and pouts good-naturedly. "No."</p><p class="p1">"Right." Runaan eyes the plate in front of Ethari, considers, and decides. "Would you like me to try a bit for you? Before you burn off your tongue?"</p><p class="p1">"You don't mind the spice?" Ethari asks, surprised.</p><p class="p1">Runaan shakes his head. "If anything, I prefer it. It's not as if I can bring a spice rack with me on missions."</p><p class="p1">"Then by all means, please."</p><p class="p1">Ethari watches intensely as Runaan navigates a forkful into his mouth. He chews, contemplative, swallows, and smacks his lips. "That's also quite good," Runaan declares. "It's not spicy at all. You might like it."</p><p class="p1">"Might?" asks Ethari, unconvinced.</p><p class="p1">"You might. Or you might not," Runaan admits. He scoops up another bite and extends it out, suppressing a smile as Ethari moves away from the approaching fork. "Do you trust me?"</p><p class="p1">"Of course."</p><p class="p1">"Then try it."</p><p class="p1">Ethari hesitates for only a second before swallowing thickly and accepting the morsel. Instantly his eyes are wide open and his hands are flapping in front of his face like his nose is on fire. "<em>Runaan</em>," he coughs through a mouthful of food.</p><p class="p1">But Runaan is trying too hard to not burst out laughing to be of any help.</p><p class="p1">In the end, after three glasses of moonberry juice and plenty of confused glances from the waiters, Ethari switches plates with Runaan in exchange for a second date.</p><p class="p1">Really, he doesn't mind. Ethari gets to make it through dinner in with his tongue and dignity in tact, and Runaan has good company and a dinner he can physically eat—the fact that he enjoys it is a nice bonus—and now a promise for a <em>next time</em>.</p><p class="p1">A win-win situation.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. it's not heavy. I'm stronger than I look</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>oh hello, I'm alive! happy 2021 dear reader (oops haven't updated since last year, my bad) and happy lunar new year!! </p><p>what you need to know for this chapter: Runaan is an outsider who has been recruited to be leader of the assassins, and Ethari is his usual craftself self :)</p><p>craftself self<br/>crafts elf self<br/>craft self self<br/>:O</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It's not often a new elf joins the Silvergrove with the intent of staying for a long time. Sure, plenty come and go as visitors or short-term tourists, but never like this. The new elf is ushered into the village under the cover of darkness, and no one really catches a glimpse of him until the following morning, when several of the village leaders take him around and introduce him to the more important elves in the Silvergrove. Those who get to meet him report back with tales of icy eyes and a demeanor that can freeze the heart of even the angriest Sunfire elf.</p><p class="p1">"Not that he'd need to—they say he took down a troop of armed Sunfire elves with his hands tied behind his back. And lived to tell the tale."</p><p class="p1">Or, at least, that's what the rumors floating around the forge say.</p><p class="p1">"It's absolute banther dung," one elf complains to another as they both clean up their stations. "Why don't <em>we</em> get to meet him?"</p><p class="p1">"Too important for us peasants," the other elf replies dryly. "Clearly he's got more important things to do than meet the elves he's supposed to be protecting."</p><p class="p1">That's the second thing Ethari learns about this mysterious new elf: apparently he's been scouted and brought in to be the new leader of assassins, after the unfortunate demise of the previous titleholder. To this day he isn't quite sure what happened to her and those who do know are so secretive about it, Ethari doubts he'll ever get to find out.</p><p class="p1">"—doesn't look very strong," the first elf is saying under his breath. "I could probably snap him in half with my bare hands. Not like the old one at all."</p><p class="p1">"Well," the second elf laughs. "That's a hard thing to live up to, no? She was stronger than ten banthers, wasn't she?"</p><p class="p1">"Twenty, at least."</p><p class="p1">So, Ethari leaves the forge that day knowing three things about this mysterious "he" who's in town:</p><p class="p1">1. He's an extremely accomplished fighter.</p><p class="p1">2. He's going to be the leader of the assassins.</p><p class="p1">3. He's—apparently—not very strong.</p><p class="p1">How one gets to be as prestigious as this mystery elf supposedly is without being bulky and muscular is beyond Ethari, but when has Ethari ever been a judger? Clearly this elf is talented in many ways, and Ethari can respect that.</p><p class="p1">He meets up with Tiadrin in the middle of the Silvergrove as they normally do, and head back to their shared living quarters together.</p><p class="p1">"Have you meet him yet?"</p><p class="p1">She doesn't even need to elaborate who "him" is. Ethari shakes his head. "Don't think he stopped by the forge while I was there. Better that way, probably."</p><p class="p1">"Why? What do you mean?"</p><p class="p1">"There were plenty of elves upset that he isn't making the rounds to see them," Ethari explains, and Tiadrin rolls her eyes at the dramatics and audacity.</p><p class="p1">"He's a busy elf, he doesn't have time to meet <em>everyone</em>," she says with an exasperated sigh. "At least, not yet. I mean, come on—the guy just got here last night. He was exhausted already from traveling, and the forge is on his itinerary for tomorrow anyway and Runaan said he—"</p><p class="p1">"Runaan?" <em>Tomorrow?</em></p><p class="p1">"Oh, yeah. Sorry. His name is Runaan."</p><p class="p1">"Runaan," Ethari repeats, feeling the foreign name on his tongue. "Interesting name."</p><p class="p1">"Yeah," Tiadrin agrees. "Can't say I've ever met anyone else named Runaan."</p><p class="p1">"Can't say I've ever met anyone else named Tiadrin," Ethari replies.</p><p class="p1">"Good," Tiadrin says with a grin, punching him affectionately in the arm. "Cause I'm the one and only Tiadrin you'll need to know."</p><p class="p1">Ethari wakes up the next day with a sore arm and a surprising spring to his step. He makes it to the forge extra early and rather than waste time chatting with his fellow crafts-elves, he immediately begins to clean his work station. Who knew so many months of scraps would accumulate so quickly?</p><p class="p1">"Hard at work already, eh?" a passing elf asks teasingly. "The sun's barely up. Are you sure you're feeling alright, Ethari?"</p><p class="p1">"Oh, you know," Ethari replies vaguely with a laugh and a general wave of his arms. He's not about to admit to this random elf that the thought of Runaan coming into the forge is enough to motivate him to finally—<em>finally</em>—clean off his table.</p><p class="p1">By the time the rest of the blacksmiths and crafts-elves trickle into the forge and don their work uniforms, Ethari is already working on fixing his third sword. A pile of sharpened blades sits in a stack by his feet, a smaller, duller pile on the table.</p><p class="p1">The door opens once more, and Ethari doesn't have to look up to guess who it might be. After all, everyone who should be here is already here. Besides, the stunned lull in conversation and awkward silence is more than enough of a hint as to who just walked into the forge.</p><p class="p1">"Hello," an unfamiliar voice with a strange accent says, and Ethari nearly breaks his neck looking up at the newcomer.</p><p class="p1">He almost drops the sword on his foot for his trouble—because standing before him is a handsome, lean, regal elf with snowy white hair that reaches past his waist; his horns curve majestically and his eyes—<em>his eyes</em>—seem to go right through him. Ethari jolts, because it finally registers: he's staring, and Runaan is staring back.</p><p class="p1">The moment is shattered when a shorter elf pushes his way into the doorway behind Runaan and begins to introduce him to everyone in the forge, taking him around in the least precarious path.</p><p class="p1">"—yes, yes," the chaperone is saying. "This is the forge, as you can tell, and allow me to introduce..."</p><p class="p1">Ethari doesn't even dare to breathe as Runaan ventures ever closer. With every introduction, Runaan merely nods politely at each new name he learns; he occasionally runs a confident finger over the edges of unfinished armor and rusty blades, and no one dares stop him. Ethari catches himself staring when Runaan and the chaperone turn a sharp corner and he makes eye contact again. Blushing furiously, Ethari focuses all his attention on the blade in his hand, even though it's already so polished he can practically count the hairs on his own head in the reflection.</p><p class="p1">"—and lastly, our master-creator here, responsible for some of our more...unconventional designs, Ethari."</p><p class="p1">"Unconventional is one way to put it," Ethari blurts with a slightly unhinged chuckle. His palms are very sweaty.</p><p class="p1">Runaan regards him for a moment. "I would've used 'ingenious' personally," he says, and Ethari gets the impression that Runaan is not one to throw out compliments so freely.</p><p class="p1">"Oh." Has it always been so hard to swallow? "Thank you."</p><p class="p1">The chaperone gets a hold of his wits just in time to cut short the awkward silence that was settling around them; clearing his throat vigorously, he announces grandly, "Runaan, if we're finished here, we have a rather full schedule..."</p><p class="p1">"Of course." Runaan turns to leave, but not without turning his head over his shoulder and offering Ethari a thin smile. "A pleasure to meet you, <em>Ethari</em>."</p><p class="p1">The things he would do to have Runaan say his name one more time.</p><p class="p1">Unsurprisingly, Ethari has a difficult time focusing on anything after Runaan and the chaperone leave. Ultimately, this leads to a long day at the forge—though Ethari doesn't mind staying later; he's got too many thoughts spinning around in his head and tinkering with intricate slivers of metal has always been therapeutic to him. By the time he leaves, carrying three sacks of various yet-to-be-fixed weaponry, the sun has set.</p><p class="p1">As delicate as Ethari's fingers are, it's a shame the dexterity doesn't carry over to the rest of him. Trying to balance three irregularly shaped bags is hard enough, but sprinkle in the fact that one misstep and he could very well impale himself—</p><p class="p1">"Hello, Ethari."</p><p class="p1">"<em>Ack</em>—Oh, curse the Moon—"</p><p class="p1">The sack so precariously hanging from a finger slips and Ethari dives for it, but he's too late. Somehow, Runaan gets there before him.</p><p class="p1">"What's this?" he asks, turning the burlap sack in nimble fingers like it weighs nothing.</p><p class="p1">"Uh," says Ethari. He clears his throat and tries again. "Just some leftover work I thought I'd get a head start on."</p><p class="p1">Runaan raises an eyebrow. "You bring your work home?"</p><p class="p1">"I mean, it's not conventional, but yes. I like to get a head start when I can." With a grunt, he shifts the two remaining bags into one arm and holds out his free hand.</p><p class="p1">Either Runaan doesn't get the hint, or he purposefully ignores it. Rather than handing the sack back to Ethari, he purses his lips and peeks inside the fabric. "Huh," he says after a beat. "That's a lot of sharp edges."</p><p class="p1">"Ha," Ethari laughs. He shifts again so that the tip of a bow isn't digging into his forearm and says, "Runaan, I can take that back."</p><p class="p1">"Nonsense. Let me help you."</p><p class="p1">"I—" The steely look in Runaan's eyes stop him from saying anything else. "Are you sure? It's a bit of a walk, and these bags get a bit unwieldy."</p><p class="p1">"It's not heavy," Runaan says easily. He slings the bag over his shoulder and Ethari's heart stops because what if he impaled himself and also, <em>did he just wink</em>— "I'm stronger than I look."</p><p class="p1"><em>Yeah</em>, Ethari thinks in a daze, watching the lean muscles in Runaan's arms as he begins to walk away. <em>Yeah, you are</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter was a doozy to write—I came up with this concept back in january, wrote the first 500 words, and then got stuck. if the ending seems rushed, that's why :(</p><p>also I just read the song of achilles the other day and i'm STILL wrecked from it 😭 it was so good. highly recommend, but be warned that if you're anything like me you'll be in a fragile mental state for a few days. I can't even look at the cover without feeling like someone has stabbed me thru the heart !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. I'll wait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>a short chapter this time! please accept some married ruthari and determined trainee rayla :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p3">Usually, Ethari does a decent job at keeping track of where his husband is. After all, there are only a few places Runaan likes to go: the reflecting pool, the assassin's pavilion, their home, and a handful of other spots.</p><p class="p3">Today, however, Ethari seems to have lost track of his husband. Which, usually, isn't a big deal. But today is sort of a special day, and Ethari isn't the kind of elf who'll spend the entire evening at home worrying. Instead, he carefully wraps up the cake he painstakingly iced that afternoon and heads out.</p><p class="p3">First stop, the reflecting pool—but it's peacefully empty.</p><p class="p3">Next stop, the assassin's pavilion. Even from afar Ethari notices the dim windows and lack of noise. It's probably empty; he turns, prepared to head to his next spot.</p><p class="p3">"Again!"</p><p class="p3">Or not.</p><p class="p3"><em>Smack</em>. <em>Thud</em>.</p><p class="p3">"Ow!"</p><p class="p3">Well, that doesn't sound good. Ethari trots over to the entrance of the pavilion and peers in, curiosity overtaking anxiety and fear. In the darkness he makes out two outlines—the taller one with hands folded behind their back, the shorter crouched near the ground, chest heaving as they pant heavily.</p><p class="p3">"I know you're there, Ethari."</p><p class="p3">Ethari grins and steps fully into the pavilion. "I'd be worried if you didn't," he responds. "Hello, Runaan. And who's—<em>oof—</em>"</p><p class="p3">"Ethari!" the shorter figure shoots into his arms and clasps onto his waist with a deceivingly tight grip.</p><p class="p3">"Hello, Rayla." With a grunt, he extracts himself from her viper-like hug. "What are you doing here?"</p><p class="p3">"I could ask you the same thing," Runaan says from right next to him, having silently approached while he was struggling in Rayla's grasp. "This <em>is</em> the assassin's pavilion, you know."</p><p class="p3">"Well, a certain <em>assassin</em> didn't make it home by sundown like he said he would," Ethari points out light heartedly. "I had to take matters into my own hands."</p><p class="p3">At that, the corner of Runaan's lip twitches. "My sincerest apologies. A certain <em>trainee</em> wanted to perfect her nighttime illusion work."</p><p class="p3">Rayla's grin turns sheepish. "I'm the trainee," she stage whispers to Ethari.</p><p class="p3">"Really now," he deadpans. To Runaan, he raises an eyebrow. In response, Runaan shakes his head a tiny bit.</p><p class="p3">
  <em>But what about our plans?</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>We'll talk about that later.</em>
</p><p class="p3">Well, okay then.</p><p class="p3">Rayla looks between the two of them. "Am I ruining something?" she asks hesitantly.</p><p class="p3">"You? Ruining something? Never," Ethari reassures her. He glances around the dark pavilion, barely able to make out the assorted training equipment tucked into the shadows by the wall. "Don't you want to go home, though? We do have a reason to celebrate, after all."</p><p class="p3">Rayla giggles. "We'll go home eventually," she promises. "But I want to make sure I can do this illusion correctly first."</p><p class="p3">"She asked to stay late," Runaan murmurs into Ethari's ear while the young trainee saunters away and starts to meditate.</p><p class="p3">"And she's sure she wants to spend her birthday...here? Doing this?"</p><p class="p3">The two elves study the spot where their adopted daughter had been. Now, she's hidden from view. Ethari hums, impressed.</p><p class="p3">"I'm sure," a voice chirps from behind them. Ethari jumps. Runaan does not.</p><p class="p3">"Speaking sort of ruins the effect of an illusion, doesn't it," Runaan comments, though his eyes are bright with amusement. To Ethari, he does a small shrug. "If this is what she wants—"</p><p class="p3">"Then so be it," Ethari finishes. "How long do you think you'll be? I put the cake away so it doesn't melt, so there's plenty of time."</p><p class="p3">Across the pavilion, a stack of wood topples over, followed by a sharp "Moon above!"</p><p class="p3">"Watch your language," Runaan calls. Then, quieter, "I don't know. We've got...work to do."</p><p class="p3">Ethari huffs out a laugh. "I can see that," he teases. He catches sight of a stool and pulls it out.</p><p class="p3">Runaan frowns slightly. " Moonlight, I know you've had a long day at the forge. You should go home and rest."</p><p class="p3">With an easy smile, Ethari settles onto the stool and leans forward, chin resting in his hands. "I'll wait," he says lightly, glancing affectionately at the two elves before him, and he does.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>